A Modern Day Version of Oliver Twist
by TwystedFate
Summary: The way Oliver Twist Should've gone..as only a 14 year old girl can tell it! The whole thing's one chapter..sorry..haven't really figured out how to make it multiple ones..it's put into parts, however! PLEASE READ SOME OF IT AND REVIEW!


A Modern Day Version of 'Oliver Twist'  
Patricia Anne Frederickson  
  
Part One In which we show the reader exactly how Oliver was brought into this world, and how exactly he ended up at the orphanage.  
  
Once Mrs. Agnes Twist felt that it was high time she brought forth her child, she began to wander, looking for a hospital in which to bear her son. (There was no doubt in the woman's mind that it was a son, and not a daughter. She had had an operation before which had cemented the child's gender in, well, cement) Sadly, however, she had to settle for a ratty, downtrodden hospital in the slum section of London. This would be because the other hospitals required insurance, and Mrs. Twist had yet to renew hers. Once dragged huffing and puffing to a bed, the woman had an outrage. "This facility is not sterile! MY LORD, I'LL DIE, I WILL!" She screamed. The doctors administered a sedative and knocked the woman to the verge of unconsciousness. Laboriously, young Oliver was borne. Mrs. Twist was NOT borne. She was quite the opposite. Oliver proceeded to cry, wail, kick and impale until they produced a pacifier, which did exactly what its name implied. Oliver fell asleep, beet red and rather puffy and ballooned, the very picture of the Goodyear blimp. The doctors all gazed at each other. "And what do we do with this 'un.he ain't got no mamma?" They asked each other. The head doctor sighed. "Send 'im over to Bumble's." He muttered. The doctors took a fleeting glance at Oliver. "Then he's good as dead. Bye small one, it's been good knowing you." They mumbled. And with that, Oliver was taken to the workhouse.  
  
Part Two In which Oliver grows up at the workhouse, and there is a definite dispute over the quality of the service.  
Young Oliver grew up at a rather fast pace. He was a good child, and didn't complain a bit at the heavy workload, and lack of food, except for the meager once a day portion of gruel the boys were served.  
Of course, when Oliver was 10 years old, that all came to a screeching halt. The boys drew straws, and Oliver was elected to have a man-to-man talk to Mr. Bumble. A boy marched up to the front of the mess hall, looked Mr. Bumble in the eye, and demanded the following:  
"I have rights cemented to my person which state that I am entitled to more than this one bowl of filthy, maggot infested GARBAGE a day. I want more.ahhh.more.MORE OF THIS STUFF!" The boy demanded. Mr. Bumble gazed incredulously at the boy.  
"MORE? WITH THE MEAGER SALARY I GET AND BUY FOOD WITH, YOU WANT MORE? THIS IS THE LAST OF IT, WE'RE SENDING YOU AWAY!" The man yelped. The boy put what he felt was a sort of rakish tilt to his hat and smiled up at Mr, Bumble.  
"Anywhere else is better than here, sir." He said. The man gaped at the boy, who skipped away merrily.  
"Who in the name of God was that? That surely wasn't Oliver!" He said. The boy who had run up to him came back to the boy's tables, and began to speak to one of the boys there.  
"See Oliver, do it like that, only maybe loose the hat part! That's too fashionable for the likes of you!" The boy said earnestly. Mr. Bumble shook his head.  
"So that WASN'T Oliver. That was DICK. Alright then." Mr, Bumble muttered. Oliver, short, pale and skinny wandered up to Mr. Bumble.  
"Please sir, I want.uhhh.Dick.what do I want again?" Oliver asked. Dick laughed.  
"SOME MORE! YOU WANT SOME MORE!" He yelled. Oliver lifted his eyebrows.  
"Ahhh.that was it.uhhh.Please sir, I want some more." Oliver said monotonously to Mr. Bumble. Mr. Bumble coughed rather loudly.  
"Okay, this is the boy. Send THIS ONE out into the world, please." He said. Everyone stared at him. Oliver ground his foot into the dirt, and smiled halfheartedly.  
"Sir, I think that you're supposed to be the one taking me out into the world." The boy said. Mr. Bumble nodded reflectively,  
"Ahhh.ME. Alright then, let's go young'un." He said. Dick stood and put his hat on his heart.  
"Goodbye Oliver, me old crony." He warbled. Oliver couldn't answer, for at that moment he was being jammed into the front seat of Mr. Bumble's Dodge Ram. He was gone.  
  
Part Three In which Oliver gets put up as an apprentice, participates in a dashingly gallant bloody battle, promptly looses it, gets sat upon, and escapes to freedom all in one day.  
Mr. Bumble did not enjoy the boy's company, despite popular belief. He wanted to rid himself of the offending specimen as soon as possible. Calling rather loudly and impatiently out the window as he drove down the street, Mr, Bumble soon found a taker on his offer. Mr. Sowerberry, of the family that owned the undertaking business in that town, stuck his head out the door and called for Mr, Bumble to bring his Dodge Ram to a halt and bring the boy forth so that he might see him. Mr. Bumble willingly parallel parked his vehicle, and dragged Oliver up to Mr, Sowerberry. The man looked the boy in question over. "He's a mite underbit." He mumbled. Mr. Bumble appeared shocked. "Underbit, sir?" The man echoed. Mr. Sowerberry cocked an eyebrow in an attempt to make himself look dashing and/or superior. "Underbit. Underfed, mealy, slim, thin, skinny, famished, malnourished.you get the drill.don't you, my droll chap?" The funeral director hissed. Oliver found the whole exchange of words incredibly funny. As the words, "droll chap.sir?" were forming on Mr. Bumble's lips, Oliver cut him off. Fingering his T-shirt, Oliver asked, "Uhhh.could we possibly get on with the whole business?" He asked cutely. The two men exchanged knowing glances, and Mr. Sowerberry nodded dumbly that yes, he would take the boy. Oliver was quite relieved, and entered the house cautiously, in utter attempt to make sure that he wasn't reprimanded for performing any unwanted verbs, such as 'breathe', or 'touch'. Looking around, Oliver saw,,,well,,,coffins. Loads and loads of coffins, arranged end to end and large to small both ways up and down. Mrs. Sowerberry emerged from a mysterious void near the back of the shop, and showed Oliver where he could sleep: on an aerobed in the stone cellar. Oliver was sitting there, breathing and not touching, when a young man entered the shop. "Who have we here?" The young man asked. Oliver, feeling that the man was implying for his name, tossed his head back at an atrocious angle, and bestowed this information upon the man. The man took a step backward. "Ahhh.a workling." The man sneered. Then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, the man said with a laugh, "Your mama was a pimp." To Oliver. Oliver straightened. "MY mama?" He asked. The man replied that yes, he was referring to Oliver's mama, and that his name was Noah, and that Oliver's mama was indeed a pimp. Oliver hardly dared to believe his ears. "My mama's dead." He said incredulously. Noah produced a stick of bubble gum from his pocket and placed it strategically into the corner of his mouth. Oliver could scarcely believe it. "My mama's NOT a pimp, and if she is, then YOUR mama's five times the pimp she is!" Oliver boasted. Noah let the sticky wad of gum fall from his mouth. Oliver steeled his nerves and ran full force at Noah. Noah was going down fast. A 10-year-old child couldn't beat him up; it would kill his reputation. He had to think fast. "'ELP! THIS YOUNG RUFFIAN HAS GONE MAD! 'ELP!" Noah screamed as he threw poor, bloodthirsty Oliver into a coffin. Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry appeared in the doorframe. "WHAT? OH, DEAR LORD ABOVE! QUICK NOAH, PAGE MR. BUMBLE!" Screamed Mrs. Sowerberry. Noah whipped out his handy dandy pager, and paged Mr. Bumble. Mr, Bumble was at their door two minutes later. "I got your page, what do you want?" He snapped. They all pointed abstractedly at the coffin; their various body parts angled haphazardly all over. "It's that young one! He attacked Noah!" Cried Mr. Sowerberry, whose arm was draped over his head in a failed attempt to look both feeble and elegant at the same time. Mr. Bumble pulled Oliver out and shoved him into the downstairs cellar. Oliver cut open a window late that night when he knew everyone was in bed, and he ran. Without warning, the Brinks home security system went off. Oliver had to run even faster in order to keep away from it. But keep away he did, and now Oliver was headed toward London in the hopes of finding some love, and maybe some vittles while he was at it.  
  
Part Four In which Oliver gets to London and has a run in with a boy that is far from sane and ordinary, like me. Hahahahahaha. It took Oliver five days to hitchhike in various cars, trucks and jeeps to the outskirts of London. By the time he got there, he was seeing stars before his eyes. If he didn't eat something soon, he'd surely die. Which, considering what lay ahead for the poor wretch, might not have been as bad an idea as Oliver had first thought it to be. Oliver reached the main entrance to the city in poor spirits. He looked around remorsefully. He saw a boy aged about 10, maybe 11, riding a skateboard up to Oliver. The boy was wearing a business suit, and looked rather peculiar inside it. It basically enveloped him. "Hello!" Said the congenial boy to Oliver. "What's up?" Oliver gazed upward, feeling rather awkward being presented with the current query. "Well, it's mostly sunny, but I can see a few clouds headed our way. We shall be rained on by tomorrow, surely." Oliver said while he placed his hands strategically upon his hips in the hopes of appearing rather moneyed and opulent. The boy began to laugh. "I meant to say something more along the lines of, 'What're you up to? How's life treating you?'." The boy said. Oliver looked at boy and business suit in attempts of scrutinizing something more out of it. Unfortunately, all he saw was a corn dog. Oliver began to drool. "You must be hungry. Got any food? Got a home?" The boy asked as he stepped upon his skateboard, sending it flying through the air. He attempted to catch it, but he missed and it landed at Oliver's feet. Blushing madly, the boy picked it up again and listened as Oliver told him that no, he had no food or home, that he was a runaway and that he was supposed to be far away from here, but surely the boy knew of somewhere he could stay. The boy nodded sagely. "Well, you're in luck. I know an old man in that high rise condominium over there who would be more than willing to take you in. He'll feed you too! By the way, my name's Jack Dawkins." Oliver raised his eyebrows. "Jack? You don't look like any Jack I've ever seen! The only Jack I've ever seen was as thin as a stick and the highest clothing size he could wear was a baby's size 4. Then again, the only boy I've ever known was as thin as a stick and the highest clothing size he could wear was a baby's size 4." Jack breathed. Jack blinked. Jack performed every silent verb known to God. And Jack grabbed Oliver around the waist and half walked with, half dragged, the boy, who still saw a corn dog, to the high rise condominium in the distance.  
  
Part Five In which Oliver meets some more people that need just as much help as himself, and they all act deranged together. Once they got to the condo in question, Oliver was thoroughly convinced that he had done the wrong thing in coming with Jack. Once they reached the entrance, Jack took Oliver by the shoulders.  
"Let me tell you now, no one calls me Jack. I am known as the Artful Dodger, but usually just Dodger. Any questions?" The boy said firmly. Oliver nodded. The Dodger fingered a hole in the knee of his blue jeans, and then pressed in the doorbell for the condo.  
"What's the password?" Came a scream from the inside. The Dodger shook his head.  
"You should know me by now. Plummy and slam." The boy screamed. The door opened, and the two boys were ushered into the condo. It was quite dark in the interior. The Dodger eagerly clambered up two flights of stairs and to the foyer/ common room of the three-room condo.  
"Where's the boss, Charly?" He impatiently asked a boy stationed nearby. The boy grinned toothily as he ran a hand through his short brown hair and jammed the other hand in the direction of the kitchens. The Dodger mumbled his thanks to the boy, and yanked Oliver into the kitchens.  
"Ho, Fagin!" The boy whispered harshly. An old, red headed man, who was at the stove roasting some sort of food and wearing a rather strange 'Kiss the Cook' apron, wheeled.  
"What do you want, you little.who have we here?" The man asked. Dodger grinned.  
"This here is Oliver Twist. I pulled him off the streets. I figured that we could use an extra hand or two around here. Was I correct, Fagin?" The boy asked. Fagin smirked.  
"Of course you were. Oliver, is it?" He asked, extending a green gloved hand to Oliver. Oliver nodded dumbly. This particular gentleman reminded him of a drumstick.  
"Alright then. CHARLY! GET THIS BOY SOME NEW PANTS OUT OF THE LOCKERS!" The old man screamed. A rather large 'thump' emitted from the common room, and the boy from earlier entered the room carrying a pair of blue jeans.  
"Who's this young ruffian?" Charly asked, smacking the bubble gum he held in his mouth. Fagin rolled his eyes.  
"Keep up with the times, my dear. This here is Oliver Twist. A parochial sort, but we can fix that. Oliver, are you hungry?" The old one asked the boy. Oliver nodded as vigorously as he could. The man nodded.  
"As you should be.Dodger.where'd you put that bag of candy?" Fagin asked. Dodger emerged from the pantry a second later, toting his skateboard under one arm, and carrying a bag of sugary substance under the other. Oliver made a grab for it, and seated himself at the table, chewing away. Dodger shook his head.  
"You act as if you haven't eaten in days." He commented. Oliver glared at his friend.  
"I HAVEN'T eaten in days." The boy cried. Fagin stared for a moment at Dodger.  
"You just got back from the routine.find anything of any value?" Fagin asked. Dodger reached into his torn jeans and pulled out two cell phones, a pager and a coupon for two dollars off any purchase at 'Macy's'. Fagin eyed the coupon curiously, but took a good liking to the cell phones and the pager.  
"Good job, Dodge. WHAT ABOUT YOU, CHARLY?" The man called into the foyer. Oliver watched as Charly careened into the room and deposited a laptop computer, two pagers and a cell phone on the table. Fagin enjoyed the laptop.  
"Nice work, my boys. Oliver, do you understand what it is we do here?" Fagin asked. Oliver, who was currently levering the powdered sugar at the bottom of the bag into his mouth, stopped and blushed.  
"Uhhh.don't you run a fix-it shop?" Oliver asked. Fagin blushed profusely.  
  
Part Six In which we take a lovely break to watch some commercials.  
  
Would you like to buy a hat? Well then, come to the hat shack! We have big hats, small hats, hats for midgets, hats for elephants, and yes, the ever-popular invisible hat. Pay only $105.45 for the amazing invisible hat, from the makers of the ghost in a box! People will stop you and say, "Golly (insert name here), you're sure looking dapper these days! What could it possibly be?" Well, you can just wink and say, "It's my invisible hat!" Now how about that? Buy that hat! Please call 1-800-HAT-NOW. Are you extremely hungry all of the time? Do you have the inability to stop eating? Well then, call glutton's anonymous! You WILL be able to walk into Wendy's and buy a salad every time, or your money back. Our methods include: "Crack that Whip", "Tie Me To My Chair and Slap Me", and, of course, everyone's favorite "Load the Gun!". The course is taught by the ever thoughtful and considerate Mr. William Sikes the Third. Call 1-888-I- WISH-TO-DIE-EARLY. Call now! Now back to whatever we were doing previously that we paused the motion of in order to bring you the word(s) from our sponsors, but now it has been picked up again and I wish that I had some hair but sadly I am bald and do you own an invisible hat, because I own five and they are great for special occasions and I love chocolate and I love smoothies so I guess it makes since that I like chocolate smoothies, except I've never had one and I don't know if they exist and my boss is waving his fist and saying that if I don't stop writing this and bring back the story at hand he will personally call 1-888-I-WISH-TO-DIE-EARLY for me even though I am not a glutton, but my great uncle Larry is and I will now bring back the story, but only because I like applesauce, just like my aunt Jemima and hey, I just realized that my aunt has the same name as a brand of pancake syrup and why is my boss coming at me with a crowbar and I wish to know why he is and I think he's gonna kill me, so I give all my worldly possessions to every white person that lives in Jamaica oh no, please help m.  
  
Part Seven In which we continue where we left off.  
"Well.you see, my dear.what we run here is an operation that gets us money. You know that we need money to survive in this world, and the easiest route to it should be the one taken, right?" Oliver blinked and said that yes, he supposed so.  
"Then, we, well, we pick pockets, and purses, and handbags, and fanny packs, and anything else we can get our hands on. It's how we manage. Can you understand that?" Oliver nodded. The man gestured to the third room, just off the kitchen.  
"The beds are in through there. You can go ahead and get some rest if you need." The vocalized thoughts were interrupted by a loud cry of: "PLUMMY AND SLAM!" From the foyer. Fagin rolled his eyes.  
"Can't you girls learn to knock?" The man asked. Two girls, one in her late teen years and the other in her early twenties, the teen being a dark red head and the elder one a blonde, entered the room.  
"Oh, Fagin, lighten up a little.who's this delightful young chap?" The red head asked. Oliver stood clumsily to his feet.  
"This is Oliver Twist, our latest.club member." The man said, grabbing Oliver's wrist and shoving it in the direction of the red head. The girl accepted the hand thrust upon her graciously, and pumped the arm it belonged to up and down.  
"Oliver. Well, I am pleased to meet you. I'm Nancy, and that there's Bet." Nancy said. Oliver stared at the blonde, who was seated at the kitchen table, talking in a small, timid voice to Charly and the Dodger, who were acting quite sedately in hopes of seducing the girl. Oliver met Nancy's eyes squarely.  
"There's something wrong here." The boy said. Nancy stuffed her hands into the pockets of her blue skirt.  
"And what is that?" She demanded savagely. Oliver nodded, grinning.  
"That was it. The way you introduced yourself to me just didn't seem right. That was the right attitude I was looking for.the one you just exhibited." Nancy began to laugh, her arms braced upon her red shirted chest for support.  
"Get a load of this 'un!" She crowed. Oliver blushed, sat back down and shoveled some more of his beloved powdered sugar down his throat. Looking at Fagin, the girl continued.  
"My man, I have been sent to collect the month's fee." Nancy said suddenly to Fagin. The old man, having just removed his 'Kiss the Cook' apron, promptly picked it up and tossed it to Bet.  
"Bet, stir this boiling water. Nancy, follow me. The rest of you, drown for all I care." The man said. Bet stared incredulously at the apron.  
"But, you don't stir boiling water!" She called after Fagin. The old man moaned and stuck his head back into the kitchen.  
"A discovery was made this morning. Women that don't do what their gender counterparts request seem to die incredibly quickly. Isn't that interesting?" Fagin snapped. Bet hurriedly tied on the apron, and began to feverishly stir the boiling water. Nancy let out a snort and followed Fagin into the foyer.  
"Where'd that one get to.ahhh.there you are, Nancy! I must go to the bank, I need more deposit slips. Hold on." Fagin said as he made sure that the boys weren't watching. Then he knocked a space in the wall, and the entire wall peeled away, revealing a pristinely clean elevator. Surprisingly, not a sole noticed, save for Nancy and Fagin. They climbed into it and rode down two floors.  
"Here we are.the safe's right here, Nancy." Fagin said as he swaggered over to the wall, opened a safe and pulled out a few bills.  
"This should cover it." The man said, stuffing the cash at Nancy and attempting to retreat. The girl blocked his path.  
"You're missing about half the total I need, Fagin." The girl said resolutely. Fagin raised an eyebrow.  
"Nancy, my dear, dear asinine child. You know good and well that I cannot obtain the money I need in order to keep these boys. That is all I can afford to give you, and I'm sorry if its totals do not total to your liking. You understand my position, don't you Nance?" The old man asked. The girl folded her hands.  
"Fagin, you know that, and I know that. But Bill, he does not. And even if he did, he wouldn't care. He'd still demand the money. I'm doing you a favor here by my getting the money instead of Bill. He'd wring your neck. Now, Fagin, I'll only say this nicely once. Give me the other half of the money, please." Nancy said civilly. Fagin mumbled something under his breath about girls and their ability to count money and how that ability shouldn't exist, and he passed Nancy the other half of the money. The girl flipped through it, and nodded satisfactorily.  
"Thank you, my friend. I shall go and bid the boys farewell, and then I'll be leaving." She said. Fagin waved his arms.  
"Off with you, child." He murmured. "I'm staying behind. I want to see if I have enough money to buy the boys dinner tonight. I don't think I do." Nancy sighed and sprinted over.  
"Here's all I have on me, that's about twelve bucks. Take the brats to a McDonald's, and order off the dollar menu." She said as she jammed a few folded bills into the old man's hand. Fagin eyed the girl with curiosity.  
"You never fail to surprise me, my dear." The man said, his eyebrows lifted. Nancy brushed her red hair behind her shoulder with a flippant gesture, and laughed.  
"And I'll never stop, I can assure you of that." The girl said as she ran toward the elevator.  
"I'll pay you back!" Fagin called after her. Before closing the doors. Nancy snorted.  
"No you won't." She retorted as the doors closed neatly and she was taken upstairs.  
  
Part Eight In which you figure out that every person in Fagin's condo is incredibly strange. Wait, you already knew that. Let me re-title this: In which we meet the infamous Bill Sikes, and the infamous Bill Sikes does not meet you, on the count of he does not exist. Nancy returned upstairs and was immediately bombarded with children. She murmured kind words, such as "How're you doin', Billy?" and "My, my! You certainly look trimmer, Gabe!", along with the most often used, "I see you. I acknowledge your existence. Now please leave me alone. I have to go. I'll see you soon, don't you worry your head 'bout that." As she wound her way back to the kitchens. There stood Bet, feverishly stirring the water.  
"We can go now, Bet." Nancy said as she took Bet's apron and passed it to Charly.  
"Be a dear and put this up, Char." She said. Charly, head over heels in love with the girl, ran to obey and tripped over three chair legs in the process. Nancy shook her head, wearing a rueful smile as she walked to the door.  
"Bye Nancy!" All the boys screamed in unison. Nancy blinked.  
"Did you rehearse that?" She asked. The Dodger elbowed Charly.  
"See! I told you she'd figure us out!" He said playfully. Charly laughed and fell to the floor, his blue jeans ripping in the process. Oliver, still seated in the kitchen, feeding on confectioner's sugar, looked up to see the girls leaving. He leapt up, and ran to the door.  
"Goodbye!" He said breathlessly. Nancy brushed a fold out of her blue skirt and sighed.  
"Will I ever get out of here?" She asked herself. Looking at the boys, she addressed them at length.  
"I have to leave RIGHT NOW, or Bill will get mad that I was late. CATCH MY DRIFT?" All the boys caught it, all right. Each and every one of them caught it so hard that it slammed into their chests and they let out a small 'oof' due to the pain it caused them. They backed away, nervously shuffling their feet and whispering. Oliver didn't get it.  
"Who's Bill?" He asked, his innocent face filled with confusion. Nancy got down on the boy's level.  
"He's.well.he's my.my lover. And he has a very sharp, nasty temper. And if I don't get home now, he'll get mad. And that might lead to physicality, which I don't feel like dealing with at the moment. Okay?" Oliver nodded nervously and ran away, calling his farewell over his shoulder. Nancy opened the door and ran away, before some other child came to attempt to, yet fail at, admitting his adulation to her. Bet tore after her friend, and they arrived at Bill's apartment, even deeper in the suburbs, in a few minutes time. Nancy tore up the steps and ran for the door. Slamming it, she climbed the three flights of stairs and breathlessly staggered into their apartment. Mr. William Sikes and his dog Bullseye, were seated on the bed. "There you are!" The man snapped. Nancy fished around in her pockets, and pulled out the bills. "Sorry I'm late Bill. Dodge recruited a new one, and, God bless him, he.anyway.here." Nancy said. Bill took the money, counted it thrice, and shoved it into his pocket. "Thank you." He muttered crisply before, literally, falling over sideways and going to sleep. Nancy laid a blanket over him and stepped back next to Bet. "Isn't he absolutely beautiful?" She asked her friend. Bill, who was currently drooling, and dribbling it all over everything, wasn't exactly the picture of cherubic beauty. "Uhhh.he's certainly something." Bet said. Nancy laughed. "Isn't he just?" She exclaimed. Bet muttered something about having to meet someone somewhere, and left, Bullseye at her heels. Nancy sat down at the kitchen table, and picked up the phone.  
  
Part Nine In which we find out whom Nancy called, and listen in on their conversation. The phone rang at Fagin's condo. The Dodger made a mad dash for the phone, and won.  
"Hello?" The boy said breathlessly into the phone.  
"Dodge, is Fagin about?" Nancy asked. The boy laughed.  
"Depends. What's in it for me? A kiss?" Nancy made a noise that sounded like a cross between a coyote and a disgusted 'yck'.  
"Not on your life. Now then, I want to talk to Fagin, Besides, you should be in bed." The phone clattered against the wall, and a moment later, Fagin picked it up.  
"What're you doin' callin' at this time of night? All the boys are asleep.who is this?" The man asked. Nancy groaned.  
"It's Nancy, you old coot. I called because, well, I wanted to warn you. That Oliver boy, he isn't the type to rob. He was probably a royal in a past life. Please, I beg of you, don't make him pick pockets. He'll make a mess of it, just you wait!" The girl said. Fagin made a hacking sputtering noise.  
"Now Nancy, it's great to know that you're concerned. But you should really let me handle my boys the way I have always handled them. Just look at the way you turned out! Not a mark on you, you always were a perfect thief. Even though you were a girl. Don't you remember, the boys called you names, they did, but you beat them up, and they shut up, and you used your female-ness to charm and beguile everyone around you, including me. I raise them all the way I raised you, and you were perfect." Nancy sniffed.  
"Perfectly imperfect, you mean. Thanks to you, I'm an alcoholic. Thanks to you, I live and transact in London's underworld. It's not right. But what I'm trying to say is that you can't treat Oliver like that. Let him stay back and stitch things, or something. But." Fagin slapped the phone.  
"God's curse you, girl. I told you, I am going to raise him the way I raised you, and there is nothing you can do about it. Now stop fretting and get some rest. Is everything clear now?" The man asked. Nancy huffed.  
"Fine. But when that boy ends up in jail thanks to the Bow Street Runners, I'll hear nothing of it."  
"Alright then, Nance. Goodnight, my dear." Nancy didn't bother to bid the ancient man goodbye. She simply slammed the phone into its cradle and fell asleep on top of the table, just as she had done every night for all eighteen of her years.  
  
Part Ten In which Nancy's prediction is almost tested out, but Fagin decides to save that for Part Eleven despite what the author said so that he may tell a jolly story instead.  
Fagin planned to send Oliver out the next day, but he decided to give the boy a few days testing at the condo first. Once absolutely certain that the boy could convert oxygen into carbon-dioxide and back again, and that he could indeed work the indoor plumbing, it was time to send him out into the world. Fagin called the Dodger and Charly over to him the next day before everyone awoke. "I'm sending Oliver out with you two today." He mumbled. Charly found this funny, and began to laugh heartily. Dodger wasn't as excited as he had hoped, however. "What? Why must you send him out with us? He'll wreck everything, he will! That boy is incredibly slow, both mentally and physically! One screw up, and the Bow Street Runners have him! Why not send him off with Gabe, or Will!" Dodger bellowed, his cheeks almost as red as his skateboard, or a really ripe cherry, or both. Fagin gazed fixedly at the boys. "I'm sending him out with you two today. Watch his back. I'm not asking you to actually let him DO anything. Just make him stand to the side and watch, but let him walk with you and feel like he's a part of something big. That's the only way we'll earn his trust and get him to steal for us. That's what I did for you. An older one, oh, what was his name? Ahhh, yes. There was an older boy named John. Nancy, however, called him Johnny- poo because she was only nine at the time and she had a crush on him, that was always funny, when that girl began to crush on the boys around her." "GET TO THE POINT!' Screamed the Dodger. "IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED, I AM MOST CERTAINLY NOT NANCY, AND I DON'T CARE FOR HER CHILDHOOD STORIES AT THIS PARTICULAR MOMENT!" Fagin blushed. "Sorry. Anyway, you were six, and I told Johnny, who was Nancy's age, to go out and take you with him. And that boy, confound his soul, said exactly what you said. You know, 'He'll never amount to anything, that Jack! He'll just sit there and be small and cute!' Because your name was just Jack back then. However, I made him take you. You two were walking past the meat factory, not really together, you were on separate sides of the street, when suddenly a meat cleaver slammed through the window, neatly severing John's head. The cleaver came toward you, and you jumped aside just at the right moment. You showed up back here a few moments later, blubbering that John was dead, but that in all the confusion you had managed to get six pocket PC's, two cell phones and a rather misshapen lightbulb. Well, I found the act quite funny despite the circumstances, and I immediately fell in love with you, my boy. I remember that Nancy was in tears because John was dead, and she beat you up because you let him die. That was funny, a stocky, buxom girl beat up you. Well, I pulled Nancy off you, and wiped the blood off her, and cleaned your wounds, you had at least twelve nail gouges and a black eye, and I decided to call you the Dodger, because of the way that you dodged that cleaver. Now, I would appreciate your telling me to my face that you lived up to John's prediction." Fagin finished. "I can't." The Dodger said, thoroughly depressed. Fagin smiled wryly. "So take the boy with you. He can't stir up that much, he's just a small one." The Dodger clasped his hands, gave the heavens a cherubic grin, and prayed that the boy wouldn't cause any trouble.  
  
Part Eleven In which we would normally be getting to the part where the boy went out, but I got a page last night that told me to turn on the television to A&E, so we shall see what it is.  
  
Hello, and welcome to "Lifestyles of the Poor and the Meekly". Today we are visiting a local pub in London, England, 'the Three Cripples'. I am looking for people that are poor and/or meekly. Hello sir! You appear to be poor and/or meekly. What is your name? "How dare you call me poor and/or meekly! I am the owner of this bar, and one of the richest men present here this day!" (Slap) Alright, so that one was a mistake. But look at that girl over by the entrance, roasting some form of chestnut or the like. Excuse me, miss, but I'm from A&E's hit show 'Lifestyles of the Poor and the Meekly', and you appear to be both. Would you care to grace us with your name and some biographical information? "Would you care to buy a chestnut?" Uhhhh.gee, those look good. How much for two? "Twenty-two dollars and five cents." For two chestnuts? My God, you're trying to make me go bankrupt! Okay, here's the money. (Slap) "You're not giving her anything, sir. Not until you buy my sweet red roses! Two blooms for a penny!" Now THAT'S cheap! I'm take two dozen, and. "WAIT! I have ripe strawberries!" "Any milk today?" "Knives to grind?" "WHO WILL BUY THIS WONDERFUL MORINING." This is queer. Now they're all dancing and singing and carrying on, yet no one is buying anything. Plus, it's not morning. It's at least ten P.M. And it's raining, not in the least beautiful. AND WHY ARE YOU PEOPLE PICKING ME UP AND CARRYING ME AROUND?" ".SUCH A SKY, YOU NEVER DID SEE! WHO WILL TIE IT UP WITH A RIBBON, AND PUT IT IN A BOX FOR ME? THERE'LL NEVER BE A DAY SO SUNNY! IT SURE WON'T HAPPEN TWICE! WELL, WHAT'S." Sun? Where is the sun? It's raining, and I am wet, and you people are performing such a strange dance. Is this a dance you do whenever you want it to stop raining and start being sunny? And what does that have to do with your wares? I STILL NEED TO PAY FOR MY ROSES! "WHO WILL BUY THIS WONDERFUL FEELING? I'M SO HIGH, I SWEAR I COULD FLY! ME OH MY, I DON'T WANT TO LOOSE IT. SO WHAT AM I TO DO." PLEASE STOP! I'll do anything! "I'd do anything. For you dear anything. For you mean everything to me. I know that I'd go anywhere." WHO THE HECK ARE YOU? "Does it matter? Because I'd climb a hill for YOU!" WELL I WOULDN'T! I WOULDN'T EVEN TOUCH YOU! YOU ARE COVERED IN GRIME AND FILTH AND OTHER SUCH THINGS! "I'd wear a daffodil for YOU!" What the heck is a daffodil? What's going on? AND WILL YOU PLEASE PUT ME DOWN? DO YOU EVEN KNOW MY NAME? "STRONG MEN TREMBLE WHEN THEY HEAR IT, THEY'VE GOT CAUSE ENOUGH TO FEAR IT. IT'S MUCH BLACKER THAN THEY SMEAR IT, NOBODY MENTIONS.MY NAME! RICH MEN HOLD THEIR FIVE POUND NOTES OUT, SAVES ME EMPTYING THEIR COATS OUT. THEY KNOW I CAN TEAR THEIR THROATS OUT, JUST TO LIVE UP TO.MY NAME! WITH ME JIMMY IN ME HAND, LET ME SEE THE MAN WHO DARES TO STOP ME TAKING WHAT I MAY, HE CAN START TO SAY HIS PRAYERS." Who are you? "That's Bill Sikes!" "How dare you say.MY NAME!" (Bam) "Oh my gawd, they killed Kenny!" "This is horrible." "Life is horrible!" What are you talking about? It's a fine life! "SMALL PLEASURES, SMALL PLEASURES, WHO WOULD DENY US THESE? GIN TODDIES, LARGE MEASURES, NO SKIMPING IF YOU PLEASE! I LOVE IT, I ROUGH IT. LIFE IS A GAME OF CHANCE. I'LL NEVER TIRE OF IT, LEADING THIS MERRY DANCE. IF YOU DON'T MIND HAVING TO GO WITHOUT THINGS, IT'S A FINE LIFE!" "It's a fine life!" What's going on? You're all fruitcakes! Consider yourselves mental. "CONSIDER YOURSELF OUR MATE, WE DON'T WANT TO HAVE NO FUSS! FOR AFTER SOME CONSIDERATION WE CAN STATE, CONSIDER YOURSELF ONE OF US!" I am not mental like you. I have a P.H.D. in psychology, unlike you. You've got to. "PICK A POCKET OR TWO!" No. What I was going to say was that I really must leave. I need to go to the restroom. "CHEERIO, BUT BE BACK SOON! I DON'T KNOW, SOMEHOW I'LL MISS YOU! DO NOT FORGET THIS TUNE, BE BACK SOON!" On second thought, I will not leave this spit, er, spot. I will not leave this spot until.OOM! "Pah-pah! Oom-pah-pah, that's how it goes! Oom-pah-pah, Oom-pah-pah, everyone knows! They all suppose what they want to suppose, when they hear Oom-pah-pah!" No, everyone does not know. I do not know. I made that noise because it was an exclamation of pain because I stubbed my toe. And I am starting to have second thoughts about ever coming here. "YOU'RE REVIEWING THE SITUATION!" Are you people the only living members of the Oliver Twist fan club? "Yes, but our club president is confined to a wheelchair due to the fact that he played Sikes in our last show and when he jumped off the roof he missed. But we'll be loyal for." "AS LONG AS HE NEEDS US!" "That's the way!" Oh dear. I'm going to purchase my chestnuts and roses and leave. "Say, chestnuts are food!" "FOOD, GLORIOUS FOOD! HOT SAUSAGE AND MUSTARD! WHILE WE'RE IN THE MOOD, COLD JELLY AND CUSTARD! PLEASE PUDDING AND SAVELOYS, WHAT'S NEXT IS THE QUESTION. RICH GENTLEMEN HAVE IT BOYS, IN-DYE-GESTION! FOOD, GLORIOUS." STOP! I'll die if you sing again! "Fine. We'll be going now. Besides, we need to cut this short so that the reader slash listener can get back to the scene that matters." Am I paid for this? "No. It's not in the budget." WHAT? "You heard me." YOU VILE LITTLE. The transcripts from here on are forever lost. We figure that they were burned in the fire. Now back to the feature presentation.  
  
Part Twelve In which we FINNALY get to the part that you care about, albeit short, if you care about Oliver, unlike me, that is.  
Truth be told, Oliver didn't want to go out. He wanted to stay back at the condo and remove people's initials from pocket kerchiefs. But Fagin had told him quite gently the day before that if Oliver didn't get out of the house soon, Fagin would go insane. So, for the old man's sake, Oliver went out with Charly and the Dodger.  
"Look Oliver! It's an old man and a pocket PC! Let's take it!" Oliver adopted a look of utter disbelief.  
"But.that's STEALING!" He yelped. Charly found this extremely funny and began laughing hysterically. The Dodger shook his head and neatly swiped the pocket PC from the old man. Looking over his shoulder, he took off at a mad dash along with Charly, leaving Oliver, his mouth hanging open, standing alone.  
"STOP THIEF!" The old man screamed impulsively.  
"I'M NOT MOVING!" Oliver rejoined. Someone grabbed Oliver around the waist and dragged him to the courthouse.  
  
Part Thirteen In which Fagin, Bill and Nancy discover that Oliver is in court and have a screaming session, resulting in one of them falling asleep, one of them stalking moodily out of the condo and the other with a rather large blemish marring their appearance.  
Fagin was beginning to wonder what had happened to his youngest charge.  
"DODGER!" He screamed. The Dodger came running into the room, his face distorted making him look rather like an elephant with a glandular problem.  
"Ho?" He said questioningly. Fagin pointed an accusing finger at the twelve-year-old.  
"Where's Oliver?" He asked. The Dodger glanced down at the ground, and rubbed his foot into the ground.  
"In court." He said unwillingly.  
"He's WHERE?" Bill screamed. The Dodger repeated his response.  
"Lovely. He'll talk for sure." Sikes muttered more to himself than to the other three present. The Dodger took the opportunity to run away into the bedrooms.  
"He won't talk, Bill." Nancy muttered from a La-Z-Boy recliner.  
"Bill, if Nancy says he won't talk, he won't talk." Fagin attempted to assure his colleague.  
"Nancy can't always be sure. She's a female, after all." Sikes muttered.  
"Sexist." Nancy muttered. Fagin eyed the two lovers.  
"How about we send Nancy out to the hearing to see that he doesn't talk." He suggested. Nancy shook her head vigorously.  
"He WON'T TALK, Bill. There's no sense in my going when he isn't going to talk."  
"But you're going anyway." Sikes said adamantly. Bullseye barked an affirmative agreement with his master from what he believed to be a safe distance beside Sikes. "I'M not going anywhere. YOU OR FAGIN can go wherever they want to go. But not ME. I don't want to.you.YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! I WON'T GO!" Nancy yelled. Sikes laughed. "She'll go." He said. Nancy eyed her acquaintance. "No, she won't." "Yes, she will." "SHE WILL NOT!" Nancy yelped, slamming her foot down. "SHE WILL TOO!" Sikes screamed, reaching out with his hand and slapping his so-called 'girlfriend' across the face, sending her sprawling onto the floor. Time seemed to stop. Fagin's tankard was halfway to his mouth and it hovered there. A fly flew into his mouth. The fly flew out of his mouth. A moment later a colony of baby flies followed their mother out of Fagin's mouth. Bill fell over, asleep. "Nance." Fagin started. Nancy didn't move a muscle. She stood up, tears in the corners of her eyes. "I don't need you. I don't need anyone. You may have raised me for fifteen years Fagin, but I can take care of myself. Just LEAVE ME ALONE." The girl muttered, placing her head delicately back into her hands and sobbing silently. Fagin touched her shoulder. "WHAT?" Nancy barked. Fagin backed up. "Be careful, my dear. Be careful." Fagin said before retiring to the kitchens to make dinner for the boys. Nancy, holding one hand to her welt, left Fagin's condo, crying silently to her God, though she knew it was too late for that.  
  
Part Fourteen In which Nancy goes to Oliver's trial, and has a run in with a pilgrim or so.  
Nancy traveled to the courthouse against her will the next day, her face still rather puffy, bruised and bloated. Along the way, a man tapped her on the shoulder.  
"WHAT?" She barked before locking eyes with the person.  
"Do you know where I can get a beer around here?" He asked. Nancy blinked multiple times.  
"Are you a.pilgrim?" She asked incredulously. The man tapped his hat happily.  
"I think I am. It depends on the day of the week."  
"It's Wednesday." Nancy said helpfully.  
"Then yes, I am a pilgrim. But tomorrow I am a sailor, and on Fridays I am a police officer." The pilgrim said happily. Nancy took a step backward and pointed the way to 'the Three Cripples'. The pilgrim tipped his hat and ran off, clicking his heels at appropriate intervals. The girl shook her head and trudged up the road to the town's civil center and wordlessly entered the courtroom. Oliver was at the stand. "Let's cut this short. I have a very important meeting to attend. Boy, did you do what the accuser accuses you of?" The judge asked. "No." Oliver said honestly. The judge's face brightened. "See here? The boy says he didn't do it, so he must have not done it. Next case!" "WHAT? I'm the accuser, and I say he did it!" The old man from the street, which Dodger had robbed, cried. "Okay. Do we have any witnesses?" The judge asked as he tapped his bailiff on the shoulder. A moment later the bailiff returned with a tall glass of brandy. The judge took a mouthful of it, swished it around, swallowed effectively, and fixed the audience with a glazed stare. "WELL?" He barked. "You're drunk!" Someone screamed. The judge shook his head a few times and glared at the stands. "WITNESSES? ANY PRESENT?" He barked again. Nancy would have loved to stand up and scream at the man that of course Oliver didn't do it, he was too cute to do something of that manner. But she knew that if she did Oliver would recognize her and more than likely say something about either her, Fagin, the other boys or the whole operation in general. So Nancy shifted her weight nervously and peered around the room. "I SAW THE WHOLE THING, YOUR GRACE!" A fat old man crowed. The judge turned his cross-eyed stare to the fat old man. "Yeh?" He mumbled, clearly not in the least bit sober.  
"It wasn't that young'un, it was another one and his pal." The fat old man said. Oliver, overcome with dizziness and scared of the fat old judge and his drunkenness, slowly slipped away and downward.  
"I find the plaintiff innocent. Case dismissed." The intoxicated judge said.  
Once again, it took Nancy everything she could muster to not get up, pick up the fainted boy and run to Fagin's. But she couldn't, it was too dangerous. But, was the boy all right? Oh, she hoped he was. Maybe if she could just act the part of a concerned bystander.  
"Oh dear! What happened?" The old man whom Oliver didn't rob cried, running forward to the boy. Nancy was on his heels.  
"Oliver! Oh, my dear sweet.casual acquaintance!" Nancy cried bitterly, taking the boy's rather limp body in her arms and sobbing as openly as she possibly could.  
"You know the boy?" The old man asked. Nancy eyed him nervously.  
"I've seen him around. Oh dear, what shall we do?" She asked. The old man stared fondly at the boy.  
"I'll take him home with me." He said, attempting to take Oliver from Nancy. This wasn't good, but Nancy had to pretend otherwise.  
"Oh! That's all right sir. I'll keep him company." The girl said firmly, gripping the poor boy's arms.  
"No, I insist." The old man said, grappling for Oliver's head.  
"But he doesn't know you. He knows me." Nancy said adamantly as she clung to the battered child's arms. The old man wrenched the boy away.  
"I've got it under control." The man said, propping the boy upright against a pillar. Nancy, still having to keep calm and act as if this wasn't such a large ordeal as it actually meant life or death for her and her 'family', bestowed a kiss and a prayer upon Oliver, and ran outside at an incredibly fast pace.  
"SOME OLD GUY IS TAKING HIM AWAY! DODGE, FOLLOW THAT CHEVROLET!" Nancy screamed to Fagin, Bill and the Dodger, who were waiting in some bushes. The Dodger adjusted his skateboard's position and glided after the Chevrolet. This taken care of, Sikes turned to his girl.  
"Did the runt talk?" He said gruffly. Nancy shook her head.  
"Not a word, just as I said, Bill." She said proudly as she attempted to slide into the thief's arms. Sikes muttered something under his breath about the female persuasion and oozed away. Nothing was said until the Dodger, panting and sweating bullets, came running back.  
"Where is he, Artful?" Nancy asked. The boy collapsed against Nancy's front side, half in her limp arms, exhausted from the long run and ride.  
"About five blocks that way. The old man is named Mr. Brownlow. Very rich household. Oliver's fainted, they took his into the house and revived him. He's expected to live there. Not good." The boy panted. Fagin nodded.  
"Thank you, my dear." He said sweetly as he shoved the small boy in the direction of his condo. Then he turned to Nancy.  
"Nancy, we have to get him back, needless to say. And, well, you're the only one that can get him away from that house without a screaming session. Please, Nance?" Fagin asked, Nancy moaned.  
"I just don't want the boy hurt. I'll do almost anything, just don't harm come to that poor boy. All right then, I'll do what I'm needed to do. When?"  
"Tomorrow." Sikes said decisively. Nancy nodded.  
"So be it. But Fagin, I'll need two or so of your small ones to help." Fagin nodded. The deal was sealed.  
  
Part Fifteen In which we see how Oliver lives in his new home.  
Very well.  
  
Part Sixteen In which we see how Nancy and some assistants re-capture Oliver.  
  
At about noon the next day, Nancy, Dodger and Charly set out for Mr. Brownlow's house.  
"Is this the house?" Nancy asked Dodger. The boy nodded and Nancy relayed the plans to the two boys. She knocked at the door and then ducked behind a tree.  
"Yes?" The housemaid asked the two boys who were left on the front stoop.  
"Would you like to buy a chocolate bar?" They said in unison. The housekeeper stepped out of the open doorframe.  
"How much?" She asked. The Dodger smiled.  
"Only five dollars a bar!" He said peppily. The housekeeper raised an eyebrow.  
"That much for a chocolate bar?" She asked. It was Charly's turn to act.  
"If you'll follow me, madam, I can show you our full selection." The boy said. The day before, Nancy had run out and bought some dark chocolate, light chocolate, milk chocolate and white chocolate and put it in a picnic basket. Now the picnic basket lay on the curb, a good thirty feet from the front door. Once the old woman left the stoop, Nancy ran into the house. "Where is he?" She asked herself. A quiet search of the house proved that a small bedroom in the fourth story was the boy's room. "Oliver?" She whispered. The boy looked up from the book he was reading on his bed and gasped. "NANCY!" He said happily, running to the girl and giving her a suffocatingly strong embrace. Nancy closed her eyes. Why was SHE always the bearer of the bad news? Nancy waited until the boy let go and looked up at her with those love filled blue eyes. "Oliver, I.I need to bring you back to Fagin's with me." She said. Oliver blinked. "Sorry, but I like it better here." "Sorry, but you have no choice in the matter. I must bring you with me. If I don't.Bill." She didn't have to say anything else, the boy was already crying his head off. "I can't leave! Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin have been so good to me!" Nancy's eyes filled with longing, and she turned on her girly charm. "Please?" She said in a sexily seductive voice. "Okay." Oliver said immediately. At that moment footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. "Good grief! Here comes Mr. Brownlow! Quick, climb out the window and hang onto the windowsill, Nancy!" Nancy gasped. "This is a fourth story room!" She hissed. Oliver shoved her in the direction of the window. Nancy clambered over the ledge and clung to the outside, hoping that Mrs. Bedwin didn't look up from her bartering session with Dodger and Charly. "I came upstairs to close your windows, Oliver. It's far too cold." Mr. Brownlow said kindly as he slammed the window screens shut. Nancy's hands dislodged themselves from the window, and she went flying down four stories releasing a yell of 'yaaarrrrgggghhh!' and landed in a bush, a rather large leaf perched precariously on her head. Mr. Brownlow threw open the front door and stepped outside. "Well if it isn't Oliver's.what did you call yourself? Ahhh, yes. Oliver's casual acquaintance. What're you doing here?" Oliver ran out the door and stood next to Nancy. "Oh. I got a call from child services. They said that I could take Oliver home with me. Come on Oliver!" Nancy called, taking the boy's hand and running off with him. The Dodger and Charly, having taken thirty-two dollars from Mrs. Bedwin, followed, pocketing their money. Nancy paused beside her rental Ford Taurus and got Dodger and Charly to climb into the back, so that Oliver could sit in the front. She took a good look at Oliver as she started the motor. The poor boy was silently crying, tears streaming down his face. Nancy quickly locked the doors just because you just never knew with children now did you and took the boy into her arms. "What is it?" She asked, purposely adopting a moment or so of motherly instincts. "You're coming home, after all!" She said, falsely excited. Oliver blinked. "No. My home was back there." He said. Nancy dabbed Oliver's tears gently aside with her sleeve and drove away, murmuring things about how good it'd be to see Fagin and the boys again, though she knew that if she didn't believe it, there was no way that the poor boy would. Oliver said nothing. It was true, he'd do absolutely anything for Nancy, but he was upset that he was leaving his adoptive family. Heavy hearted and guilty, Nancy drove back to Fagin's.  
  
Part Seventeen In which we see what happens to Oliver when he arrives at Fagin's condo again.  
By the time Nancy got back to Fagin's, it was around midnight. The Dodger and Charly clambered out of the backseat.  
"What about Oliver?" Dodger asked. Nancy pointed wordlessly at Oliver, who was currently asleep.  
"Wake up. C'mon, the sooner you show yourself the sooner you can get a bed to sleep in. C'mon, Oliver." She said sweetly. Oliver rubbed his eyes and wobbled out of the car and up the steps, his back protectively against Nancy's front.  
"Look who's back!" Someone crowed. Oliver looked around. All the boys, Fagin and Bill were in the foyer, talking and drinking. Oliver froze, and Nancy gently pushed him up ahead of her.  
"How're you doin'?" Someone crooned at Oliver. Oliver hung his head and toddled over to Fagin, who was beckoning him.  
"So good to have you back, Oliver. I trust you had a good time?" Oliver nodded miserably. Sikes glared contemptuously at the small boy. His mouth was halfway open and his hand halfway in the air when Nancy mouthed for all the boys, including Oliver, to back away slowly into the next room and to stay flat against the wall until she said it was okay to move again. The children slunk away as one fluid motion. Nancy took a deep breath. "Leave him alone, Bill. He's had enough heartbreak today just getting away from the people he loved. He came willingly too, Bill. He didn't fight it a bit. All he wants to do is sleep and have a good cry. I wouldn't mind the same thing myself. Just let him alone." Nancy said. Bill's eyes misted over, and he eyed the room, noticing that all the children had slunk away. The man stood up and headed straight toward Oliver. The boys parted ways, leaving Oliver all alone flat against a wall in the room. Nancy raced after Sikes. "Bill." She started. Oliver wasn't going to move. There was no way he was going to even dare to move. Not even if an earthquake came. He was, however, shaking like a leaf. Nancy sighed. "Bill, don't think about it. Don't do it." She pleaded. Bill neared the boy. Nancy reached into her pocket and pulled out a match, striking it meticulously on her boot. "I've got a flaming stick, and I'm not afraid to use it!" She warned. The Dodger, who'd been watching through a doorway the entire time, leaned into the kitchens where the boys were and yelled: "NANCY'S GONE BANANAS!" The boys, however, thought that he had said 'Nancy's GOT bananas', so they came running after the Dodger in the hopes of getting some fruit. Bill took another step. Nancy did too. Oliver shook worse than the pen on a machine during an earthquake registering a 10 on the Richter Scale. The boys drooled. Fagin drank his gin in the foyer, blissfully unaware. Bill reached up to Nancy, doused the flame by pinching it out, slapped her across the face, and walked into the foyer. He made it halfway to the front door before falling onto the ground, asleep. Oliver gradually reduced his shaking. Nancy, hand pressed over her bleeding welt, called to Fagin: "I'll put them to bed, if you like." Fagin responded that he would appreciate it, for they wouldn't listen to him, but they would listen to Nancy. After an hour or so of ushering, screaming, clawing and scraping, Nancy, five scars later, managed to have all 37 boys, save Oliver, in their beds. Sweating bullets, the girl wheeled, prepared to go home. She saw Oliver behind her. "YES?" She moaned, irritated. Oliver looked down. "I just wanted to thank you for helping me back there. Your boyfriend.scares me." The boy said, shying away for fear of being slapped due to his impudent comment. To his surprise, Nancy laughed halfheartedly. "He scares me too at times, but he needs me for things." She said, steering Oliver to a spare bed. The boy grabbed Nancy yet again and almost cut off her circulation with his hug, and he fell asleep in the bed the second his head hit the pillow. Nancy felt incredibly guilty for ever bringing the boy back to Fagin, but it was too late to do anything about it. Saying a mumbled goodbye to Fagin, she trudged home.  
  
Part Eighteen In which we learn of Fagin's plans for Oliver, as well as learn a *new* vocabulary word, but only if the author thinks you've been a good boy/girl.  
Nancy and Oliver slept for an abnormal amount of time the next day. Scientists suppose it was due to built up anxiety, fear and love which conflicted with their duties that caused them to have to sleep so that they could recuperate.  
"Oliver!" Someone somewhere above the boy said. The boy opened a sleepy eye, still incredibly tired and sick. It was Fagin.  
"Yes?" The boy mumbled. The old man took a seat beside the child.  
"I would appreciate knowing why you went away with that Brownlow man." Fagin asked. Oliver fell back against his pillow again.  
"He was kind to me. He treated me very well, and he gave me all I could ever want." Oliver explained. Fagin sighed.  
"And WE aren't kind to you?" He asked. Oliver shut his eyes.  
"Not all of you. Bill isn't, Charly isn't, and you aren't." He said, rolling over again. The old man blinked.  
"And WHY aren't I kind to you?" He asked again.  
"Because if you cared and were kind, you would have wanted me to get out of here and get somewhere where I was truly happy."  
"I would, Oliver, but we need you here. We're all one big family, and you're like a son to me." At that, Oliver snickered.  
"That's not true, and you know it." The boy snapped. Fagin tossed Oliver another blanket.  
"Well, here. You're febrile." (Febrile; adjective. Feverish, hot, delirious and/or frantic. There, now you've learned your vocabulary word). "I also came to tell you that Bill wants you at his place tomorrow. Nancy'll come get you tomorrow night, alright?" The man said gently. Oliver made a whimpering noise, and then fell asleep.  
"God, the boy's sick. He's not going to last well with Bill if he's sick and sluggish. Come on Oliver, get well overnight for your own sake!" The man muttered to himself as he tucked the boy in and left quietly.  
  
Part Nineteen In which the reader says 'Awww' at least three times. Subtitle: the sickly sweet chapter in which Nancy delivers Oliver away.  
Poor little Oliver slept fitfully and on and off for the next day. He was concerned about many things. (1): Was Nancy going to take him by force? (2): Would he ever learn of his mother's identity? (3): Was Bill going to kill him? (4): Whatever happened to his pet goldfish, the one he had at the orphanage? (5): Was he actually loved by anyone? (6): Was Fagin immortal? (7): Would he ever see his friend Dick again? And most importantly: (8): Did he have any hope of seeing Mr. Brownlow again? (9): And would Nancy take pity on him and help? These questions kept the boy awake for a day and a half straight. The boy spent the next night in solitude, crying for himself and crying to his mother and his God for help. Once it became extremely dark, he heard a knock at the door. "Oliver? Can I come in?" Someone asked. Oliver dried his tears on his sleeve and opened the door. It was Fagin. "Yes?" He asked the old man. Fagin shut the door behind him and sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace beside the boy. "Oliver, I just wanted to warn you, my dear. Bill can get quite dangerous, and I don't want you hurt, because I CARE. Just do whatever he asks of you and don't speak a word. Be a good boy, Oliver, please." The old one begged of him. Oliver curled up into a ball and began to cry yet again. He was a nervous wreck, scared to death. "You'll be fine, Oliver." Fagin assured the boy as he patted his back. Oliver ceased his sobs and straightened up. "I will.I hope. Thank you." The boy said as he made his way to a table and folded into a chair, falling asleep. The old man stood up, his bones creaking, and left the room, closing the door softly behind him and heading upstairs. "Fagin?" Someone hissed into his ear. "Ho, Nancy." The man said halfheartedly. The girl twisted her way in front of him. "What's wrong?" She asked, concerned. "That boy, he makes me feel so guilty. We should've left him at Brownpants, or whatever that guy's name was." Nancy said nothing; she just let Fagin disappear into the kitchen and she let herself into the small, private room Oliver had been locked in for the past week or so. The boy was still asleep, draped over the table. "Oliver?" She asked. Oliver opened his eyes. "Oh no." He said. Nancy averted her gaze. "Are you ready to leave?" She queried. Oliver let a few tears slide down his cheeks. "No." He said flatly. Nancy pulled the other chair next to his. "Why don't we have a talk?" She suggested. Oliver blinked. "There's nothing to talk about." He put in. Nancy sighed. "C'mere." She said sweetly. Oliver's senses appealed to the open arms and the motherly voice and personality. He leaned forward and just sat there, his head on the girl's shoulder, crying and whimpering. (Awww.) If I just do this long enough and act incredibly needy and sickly sweet, she'll go insane and leave without me. The boy thought malevolently. If I let him do this long enough, he'll run out of tears and come with me because he'll be dehydrated and I have water with which to bribe him at Bill's. Nancy thought happily. Eventually, Nancy grew impatient of holding the grieving child in her arms. She was about to pry him off her and leave with him, when Oliver, reduced to silent crying and sniffling, decided to talk. "This is comforting, You know, I never really had a mother. I was never nurtured as a child." He said sweetly. (Awww.) Awww.crud. He's so gosh darned cute. Nancy thought as she tightened her grip on the boy, her shoulder now thoroughly soaked. "I love you." The boy said before he brought out a new set of tears. (AWWW.) "Foo." Nancy muttered so softly that she could barely hear it herself. Eventually, Nancy suctioned Oliver off of her. "It's high time to leave, dear." She mumbled drowsily. Oliver yawned and stumbled up. "I'll try to get you out of this mess, but now's not the right time. Later, I promise. C'mon." Nancy said. Oliver trotted after Nancy. They got into her car and drove back to her house. "Lo Bill!" Nancy called, half carrying the boy inside. Oliver became paralyzed with fear the second they hit the door. "Ahhh.' Sikes said when he saw the cowering child. "Nancy, get the kid a mat or something to sleep on, we'll leave at six in the morning or so. Wake us up. Boy, if you say one word, you're dead. Got it?" Oliver nodded dumbly, and Sikes fell over, once again asleep. "Here." Nancy said kindly to the boy. Oliver walked stiffly over to a blanket she had put on the floor before the fire. "Get some sleep." Nancy advised as she laid the blanket over him. Oliver's eyes filled with trepidation. Nancy sighed and drew a chair over by the table. "You'll be fine. But you really need to get some sleep, you have a lot of walking to do." She informed as she bent over the boy and gave him a kiss. (OHHH.AWWW.) "Good night, Oliver." She murmured before seating herself at the table and staring moodily at a candle. "G'night Nancy." Oliver said before falling asleep.  
  
Part Twenty In which every scrap of sweetness that ever existed in this story is thrown out the window, along with Fagin's dentures.  
When six o' clock rolled around, Nancy woke up Bill first, then Oliver. The boy moaned to himself. He hadn't actually gotten much sleep, and he was very tired.  
"What's going on?" He asked the air above him.  
"It's time for you to leave.here.gulp this Slim Fast Shake." Nancy responded. Oliver downed the rather fowl tasting liquid and stood up, stretching. Bill was in the corner, cleaning his gun. He accidentally brushed the trigger and a bullet buzzed out of the barrel, soaring through the floorboards and colliding with a poor unsuspecting soul that was on the wrong floor of the wrong building at the wrong time. "Yaaacccccckkkk!" The dying patron screamed. Sikes blinked a moment, confused. "Hahahahahahahaha!" The man roared, laughing after realizing exactly what had happened. Oliver's eyes widened. "Uhhh." He intoned. Nancy tossed him a jacket. "It's cold. You'll need this. Be careful." She warned the boy. Oliver had one arm in one sleeve when a knock came on the door. "Password?" Nancy asked. "IHaveNoRightToBeHereUnlessIKnowThisPassword." Was the response. Nancy opened the door. "Fagin." She said declaratively. (Declarativly as in looking at a piece of cheese and saying 'cheese' in a satisfied tone). "Fagin!" Oliver said happily, hoping he was saved. "Fagin." Sikes said in a depressed tone. The old man ran his callused hands over his sleeved arms. "Boy is it ever cold out there!" Fagin exclaimed. Sikes cocked his gun. "Why're you here?" He demanded. Fagin stepped forward. "Bill, I was thinking, why don't you take Charly instead of Oliver? Oliver hasn't even been on a real scheme before, and he'll surely screw this up!" Fagin declared. Sikes stood and clamped a heavy hand on Oliver's shoulder. Oliver shuddered; the man's hand was like ice. "This boy is the one coming with me. I need a boy his size, and Rent-A-Boy was out of nine year olds that weighed only 52 pounds." Sikes stated. Fagin stepped forward and put his hand on Oliver's other shoulder. "Charly, Phil, David and Roger all weigh in the 50 pound region." Fagin pointed out. Sikes' hand didn't waver a bit. "That may be true, but the only boy here now is Oliver." He said. Fagin gave a small tug. "Yes, but Nancy can go and get one of the others." "I shall go and fetch Phil right this very minute!" Nancy said, latching onto Oliver's legs. Sikes shook his head. "That's okay." He responded. The three people began to tug on the boy's various limbs. Afeared of falling, Oliver reached up and latched onto the first thing he could find: Fagin's teeth. "Eeek!" The man yelped. Nancy let go of Oliver's legs, while Sikes tugged harder. The boy went flying across the room, propelled by Sikes' unnecessary force, holding Fagin's dentures. Nancy gasped. "Yaaaarrrggghhhh!" She exclaimed. "Muht?" Fagin said, his teeth gone. (Translation: 'What?') Nancy pointed at the window as Oliver went sailing through it, Fagin's dentures waving wildly in the air. "Ovely. Anastic ob ill." Fagin snapped. (Translation: 'Lovely. Fantastic job Bill'). "ME? WHAT DID I DO?" Sikes roared. Fagin took a step backwards. "Oliver? ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" Nancy called out the window. Luckily, the boy had hit a tarp suspended from the sill of a window one story below Bill and Nancy's. He laid in the tarp, which was about to snap in half, holding Fagin's dentures out. "I'm fine. Just get me back up there!" He pleaded. "ANCY! ANCY, ILL'S OING O ILL EEEEEEEE!" The toothless Fagin screamed. (Translation: Nancy! Nancy, Bill's going to kill meeeeeee!) Nancy latched onto Oliver's outstretched hand. "Don't let go of the dentures!" She pleaded. "I'll never let go!" Oliver assured her. "But my hand is getting sweaty, and I need to get up!" "AAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!" Fagin shrieked. (Translation: AAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!) Nancy yanked harder on the boy's hand. Oliver slowly made his way up the wall. He reached the windowsill, gave Nancy a quick hug, and rushed into the melee. "Here!" He yelled at Fagin, thrusting the man's teeth at him. Fagin popped his teeth in and socked Bill in the mouth. Sikes fell over, asleep. Nancy grinned. "I suppose the 'outing' will have to hold off until tomorrow night. Oh well." Nancy said to no one in particular. "Did you plan that, Fagin?" Oliver asked, curious. Fagin shrugged. "I suppose I did." He admitted. Oliver hugged the old man and the young lady, laughing through his tears. "I didn't know you had dentures!" Nancy remarked. Fagin blinked. "I didn't either, come to think of it." He answered.  
  
Part Twenty-one In which Bill recovers and we have a good laugh or two over the sweet simplicity of this part which doesn't even last a page.  
Oliver spent the rest of the day at Nancy and Bill's condo, blissfully contented to simply sitting there and blinking. Sikes slept all day long, and Nancy kept him company by telling him stories and assisting him in the creation of a tent made from a table and a tablecloth. Bill finally awoke at some time around noon or one p.m.  
Oliver and Nancy were in the middle of a rousing game of 'moose', in which Oliver was a moose and Nancy was a hunter and Oliver had to sit motionless under the table and make sure to not get killed. All he was aloud to say was 'moose', but Nancy had free speech.  
"I want some lunch!" Sikes roared. Nancy, startled, bumped her head on the tabletop.  
" I need to get Bill some lunch." She told Oliver. "But keep watch, because you never know if the person talking is me or Bill!" Nancy warned the boy before standing up and clinking around plates.  
Someone sat down at the table. Oliver's back was to them, though, so he figured it was Nancy. The someone stretched their legs and knocked into Oliver.  
"Who's under this table?" The someone asked.  
"Moose." Said Oliver. "MOOSE?" The someone yelped. The someone reached under the table and pulled out Oliver. "Last time I checked, you weren't a moose." The someone pointed out. "Moose." The boy muttered sheepishly.  
"Why are you under there?" Sikes, the someone, asked.  
"Moose." Said the boy. Sikes shook Oliver.  
"Say something else!" He yelled.  
"Moose." Oliver said resolutely. Nancy kept in a laugh.  
"Bill, we were playing a game.and he thought.just forget it." She said, tugging Oliver away and shoving him beside the fireplace. Sikes blinked.  
"You have a very strange mind, Nancy." He stated. Oliver began to roll on the floor, full to bursting with laughter. Nancy snickered and handed her lover a sandwich.  
"Here. I'm taking the boy for a walk." She said. Bill took the last bite of his sandwich and fell over, asleep. Nancy took Oliver's hand and swiftly ran outside with him, before Bill realized what she was doing.  
  
Part Twenty-two In which Nancy talks to Oliver, and you learn another *new* vocabulary word.  
Nancy took the boy with her into a secluded area of a park and sat him down on a bench. It was brown. The bench, that is. Not Nancy or Oliver. They were a lovely creamy tan. But that's beside the point.  
Nancy sat the boy down next to her and turned to him.  
"Look, you'll have to go out with Bill eventually. Fagin and I can't keep covering for you, and the author wants to actually get somewhere in the story instead of almost starting the inevitable over and over." She pointed out.  
"You know she couldn't be more rectified." Said the author, who had just appeared out of nowhere. (Rectified: adjective, correct, right. There, now you've learned TWO *new* vocabulary words!). Nancy blinked.  
"Since when were you here?" She asked. The author laughed demonically.  
"I've never not been here. I saw you that time you did something stupid and thought no one was watching and you said to yourself, 'Gee, I'm sure glad no one can see me!' even though I saw you." The author replied. Nancy turned back to the boy.  
"Anyway, tomorrow you'll have to go out with Bill. I don't know how Fagin keeps managing to show up and just the right moments, but it can't last forever. Okay?" Oliver nodded.  
"Hellllppppp!" Someone screamed. Nancy turned to see Fagin running through the woods being chased by an incredibly fat and shaggy brown dog.  
"How DOES he do it?" Nancy marveled to herself. Oliver stood up and tore after Fagin and dog.  
"There you are!" A little redheaded girl cried as she caught up to Oliver, Fagin and dog in a woodsy clearing.  
"Who're you?" Fagin asked as he ran around in circles in an attempt to keep the dog away. The girl smiled.  
"My name's Annie, and this is my dog Sandy." She explained as she knelt beside the dog, grabbed it by the ruff of its neck and began to sing,  
"The sun will come out TOMORROW." Nancy emerged into the clearing.  
"Wrong musical, hon." She muttered. Annie blushed and ran away with the dog. Everyone blinked.  
"How'd she get here?" Fagin asked the almighty author.  
"I thought the security was up on all of this. I must remind them to keep an eye on their surroundings." The author muttered. Nancy cleared her throat.  
"This is supposed to be touching. You're supposed to cry and be touched and other emotional outbursts, all of you in the audience!" The girl yelped.  
"Except for me." The author pointed out. "Because I'm the author, and every single thing in this story was made by me. So I hope you don't mean for me to be touched."  
"Not you, but everyone else." Nancy explained.  
"Oh." Said the author's reverberating voice as it faded away leaving no one. Nancy turned back to the others. Fagin was pouring disinfectant over his wounds caused by little orphan Annie's dog. Oliver was draped over the bench, asleep. The author was gone. The girl sighed.  
"I'll take the boy back to the house and put him to bed. Just skip ahead to the next part." Nancy said to the author.  
"Will do." Said the author as she laughed evilly.  
  
Part Twenty-three In which we FINALLY go with Sikes and Oliver on a raid, I HOPE.  
The girl carried Oliver back to her and Bill's house and dumped him on the blanket by the fire.  
"That was pointless." She griped to no one in particular.  
"Hey, at least you got to meet little orphan Annie!" The author pointed out.  
"Big deal. I bet that hair of hers is nothing but a fake afro." Nancy muttered. The author laughed hysterically and vanished yet again. Sikes stirred in his bed and sat up.  
"Where's the boy?" He yelled. Nancy pointed. The man fell over yet again, asleep. Nancy eyed the two males. Each was asleep. Bill was snoring quite loudly, one of those 'SNORT-SHOOO.' type of snores. Oliver was nuzzling his pillow and murmuring things such as 'I'll take the peanut butter one!' and 'Please, no more, I'm stuffed Mrs. Bikini clad lady.' Nancy sighed. "I truly hope when I was his age I wasn't dreaming of men in speedo's." Nancy muttered. "Ahhh, but you were." Said Fagin, who had materialized from out of nowhere yet again. "Where do you come from? There is no way we'll be able to get anywhere in this God condemned tale of woe if you keep showing up and adding things to the plot of this story which aren't supposed to exist. Haven't you read the book? Is little orphan Annie in the book? Why, no she's not." Nancy snapped. "Nancy my dear, I just wanted to tell you that you were the same way when you were a small seemingly meaningless, petty and insignificant child." Fagin replied. Nancy looked at the ceiling. "Author, can you please give Fagin his very own part so he can hurry up and say his piece so that we can get on with the stuff that matters?" Nancy asked. The author, who would've cocked an eyebrow had she had a body with a head to cock, chimed in. "Certainly. But, if I may be so brassy as to ask, why're you so eager for the boy to get shot?" The author asked. Nancy blinked. "I just want to get to something that matters!" She yelped. The author snickered.  
"Whatever you say." She said.  
"Shut."  
  
Part Twenty-four In which Fagin tells his *paltry* story.  
".Up." Nancy finished. Then Fagin began to tell his beautiful tale:  
"When you were about seven or eight years old I sent you out on the job. You came back empty handed. I asked you why and you blushed and ran your hands through your hair and replied in an incredibly feminine voice that you had just seen the most incredible thing in the world.  
"I asked you what you had seen, and you said that you were walking down the street and you saw some guy on a soapbox. You paused and watched as the man removed his shirt and in turn pants. You were really getting into the whooping and cheering with the crowd as his other articles of clothing went away, when one of the boys dragged you back home.  
"You came home bloody and bedraggled with large chunks of your hair missing. It turns out that you had put up an incredible fight to stay, which you gracefully lost, but not after basically killing the boys that brought you home.  
"That night and for the next few nights you had lovely, vocalized dreams. Saying things such as 'GO GO GO!' and 'YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT!' Let me tell you, it was quite scary. "And that was nothing compared to the day you began your female cycles of sorts. Oh my lord, that was hilarious. You came running into my room yelling things about how you were scared you were bleeding internally and how you were going to die and that you wanted a sheaf of paper on which to script your last will and testament. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for an adult male to attempt to explain the whole process to a ten year old girl? Never mind how embarrassing it is for a 64 year old man to go to Ingles and have to buy those little sticky thingys." "SHUT UP! I DON'T WISH FOR EVERYONE AND THEIR MOTHER TO KNOW ALL ABOUT MY PERSONAL LIFE!" Nancy yelled. Fagin paid her no heed. "Oh, and the day you realized that you had red hair! See, you were always covered in soot, so you assumed that your hair was blackish brown. On your tenth birthday we managed to get you to a public bathhouse and you figured that you were going to die because now all the blood from 'down there' was going 'up there' (It was the same day you learned about the other business). Oh, I've never laughed so hard in my life." "SHUT UP RIGHT NOW YOU OLD COOT! WE'VE WASTED FIVE CHAPTERS ON ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! LET'S GET ON WITH THE."  
  
Part Twenty-five In which we 'get on with the.'  
".Story." The girl finished. "And would you stop cutting me off like that?"  
"Mwahahahahahaha!" The grand high author laughed. Fagin stood up and left the room.  
"Goodbye, little miss redhead!"  
"SHUT UP!" Nancy yelled with a hint of affection toward her 'father' in her voice. Surprisingly, Bill and Oliver had slept through the whole ordeal. The girl shook her head.  
"And since when did I hear the voice of the author in my head?" Nancy asked herself.  
"Since.about five hours ago, give or take a little." Replied the author. The girl moaned.  
"Is there any way we can get on with the stupid story?" She asked. The author thought for a moment.  
"In order to proceed as you wish we would have to create a replica of your third cousin Randall's animal sacrifices. This would mean that we would need two sheep, a large kidney pie and a tube of whipped cream. Can you handle that?"  
"WHAT KIND OF A STUPID QUESTION IS THAT? I CAN HANDLE ANYTHING!"  
"Except little boys on soapboxes."  
"HOW DID FAGIN GET IN HERE AGAIN?"  
"I was just leaving."  
"And aren't we getting vastly off subject? Aren't we supposed to be doing something involving Bill and a gunshot wound and some old butler guy named Buttercrumb."  
"It's Brittles, ma'am."  
"Whatever.I am not even going to bother asking how that old butler guy just got in here and disappeared magically, just like the Keebler elf. But my point here is that we should probably get back on subject. Otherwise the Charles Dickens Restoration Fan Club will be breathing down our necks." Nancy admonished.  
"There's a Charles Dickens Restoration Fan Club?" Oliver, who had mysteriously awoken and appeared at Nancy's side, queried.  
"Yes, there is. And the membership tolls in at a surprisingly large 29 members. But that's off the subject. Do you think that we could possibly do at least one scene that is, in a way, anything like the book/Broadway musical/movie with no singing/Dramatic History Guild version?" Nancy responded.  
"There's a Dramatic History Guild?" Oliver piped up. Nancy gritted her teeth.  
"Yes, there is." She hissed. The grand high author hacked nervously.  
"Are you sure you want to continue on with the story? Because the way it goes in the book/Broadway musical/movie with no singing/Dramatic History Guild version requires Oliver to be seriously wounded." The author pointed out. Two pairs of eyes, one present and one invisible, glued themselves to Oliver. The boy's eyes widened.  
"Could I possibly come as closely as humanly possible to a serious wound without actually gaining one?" He asked. He got no response. Nancy shook her head slowly.  
"No, in order to have the dramatic affect needed in this particular yarn, you need to be seriously wounded."  
"Darn." Oliver responded. The author yet again cleared her throat.  
"So.are we ready to once again become boring and hackneyed?" She asked. Nancy nodded, Oliver nodded and Bill, in his sleep, mumbled 'Please pass the turkey legs. Oooh.dark meat!'. Nancy snickered, and the author wove her magical spell.  
  
Part Twenty-six In which you forget everything from part twenty on and start anew with a section that actually matters.  
Bill woke up the next morning, feeling absolutely refreshed and ready to take on the world, or at least the British section of it. He warmed up his gun by having target practice on a group of small children watching a puppet show on the ground below the kitchen window, and managed to hit two out of three times in a row. This called for celebration.  
"EGGS!" He roared. Nancy gave him a puzzled look that translated to something along the lines of, 'what the heck are you talking about you un- shaven coot?'. Bill sat up, which was quite a feat considering his lifestyle, and explained in as gentle a voice as he could muster (a dull roar) that he wanted some eggs immediately or the sleeping boy propped up in the corner thanks to the convenient usage of a yardstick (The one and only prop certain low budget school musicals can afford to use, therefore making a lamppost, an old man's cane and a cute little kitten all a yardstick, not that the uncaring public would notice ::cough::) would get it. Nancy began to cook like there was no tomorrow. Oliver kept on sleeping like there was no tomorrow, and Bill kept on breathing like there was no tomorrow. Once Bill got his EGGS, he began to polish his gun yet again, yelling at Nancy to rouse the boy. Nancy did so by pulling the yardstick out from under the boy. Oliver fell to the ground and let out a small moan. Nancy pulled him to his feet and handed him a windbreaker. Oliver gave her a look that clearly said in so many words: 'I now officially loathe you forever and ever for ever letting me go out with your abusive boyfriend and I probably won't come back and it'll be your fault I hate you'. As if sensing this, Nancy gave the boy a small hug around the shoulders. "You'll be fine as long as you do whatever Bill says. Don't do anything stupid, and don't say anything you wouldn't say to your mother.er.your respected elders. He probably won't want you talking, period. And he's dead serious about that gun, don't think for a moment that he's not. Just remember that people like Artful and Fagin (believe it or not) and the Brownlows and I care about you and don't want to see you hurt. Be careful, I love you." She muttered as she uncrossed her fingers which were once crossed behind her back and let go of Oliver. The boy, still blissfully, blissfully gullible, wiped the tears out of his eyes and edged slowly over to Bill. Sikes latched onto Oliver's arm and dragged the boy out of the apartment with one hand, his other hand permanently glued to his holster. Once sure that the two people she loved the most in the world (not counting Fagin who she had been forced to love ever since she was four years old because he was like a father to her, yet still loved in that mutual 'parent and daughter' relationship because he put up with her and that took a lot of patience, she had to admit) were gone for sure, Nancy pulled her cloak over her pale shoulders and ran down the street, once again aiming for the Brownlow's house.  
  
Part Twenty-seven In which we see why Nancy went to the Brownlow residence and find out exactly how the Brownlows are coping with their "unfortunate loss". (Give me a break, my manager told me to write that last part about the "unfortunate loss". What a crock).  
Upon arrival at the Brownlow's house, Nancy rang the doorbell and nervously shifted her weight around waiting for an answer. An old, rather weathered woman came to the door.  
"Yes?" She asked. Nancy put on her best 'I used to be a Girl Scout, but I was so gosh darned cute that they kicked me out' look, grinned largely, and produced a strangled rendition of:  
"Is Mr. Brownlow 'ere?" The old woman crossed her arms on her chest.  
"Maybe. What do you want with him?" She asked. Nancy looked down at the dirt and sketched a smiley face in the dust with the toe of her boot.  
"I have some information about the boy which may be of help to him." She explained. The old woman opened her mouth as if about to say something, took in the crude drawing of a smiling, circular head, and shut her mouth. Nancy scuffed out the drawing, and looked back up hopefully at the motherly old lady. The old one bustled into the house, murmuring for Nancy to come into the parlor. Nancy flopped onto a chair, and stood up a moment later after remembering that her clothes were sooty and dirty. A gargantuan, black mark was marring the antique couch in Mr. Brownlow's parlor. Nancy spat on the end of her dress and furiously began to rub at the soot. Unfortunately, this only made it bigger and bolder. The girl cursed under her breath just as Mr. Brownlow entered the room. Nancy threw herself onto the couch just in time, covering the mark, yet looking quite abstracted. "Ahhh, if it isn't Oliver's casual acquaintance. Please, don't sit so.strangely. Make yourself comfortable." The old man insisted. Nancy shut her eyes and opened them again. "Yes, but this is the most comfortable spot I can find. Those darn yoga lessons have me doing the strangest things. Why just yesterday, I was baking a cake in my non-dilapidated, incredibly well kept and expensive.mansion when suddenly I found myself on the ceiling." Mr. Brownlow put up his hand. "Enough said, I can't stand your lying. Now then, first things first. What's your name?" He asked. Nancy thought quickly. "Nancy." She said simply. Mr. Brownlow sighed. "Last name?" He asked. Nancy had no recollection of ever having a last name. Fagin had been the one to give her her first name, and the only reason he named her Nancy is because the name 'Nancy' means something along the lines of 'virgin of many a virtue', and Fagin had hoped to raise her correctly. Unfortunately, living in a beaten up condo with a father at the age of sixty and having about twenty-six brothers just didn't make sense when you were five years old. Then again, what did? So, of course, Fagin had raised her as everything but what her name meant. Not that she could trust what Fagin had said: any man that coached four- year-olds in the art of pickpocketing and also hand stitch Nancy little red dresses at the same time couldn't be trusted. Nancy remembered almost nothing about her mother. She could only remember one thing about her mother, and that was just a mental picture. Her mother had looked suspiciously like Fagin in female form, only more.feminine and less dirty. Realizing that Nancy was shedding a tear at the sight of the one mental picture of her mother she had left, she quickly wiped her tears away. "I truthfully have absolutely no idea." Nancy responded. Mr. Brownlow crossed his legs. "Alright, so then, what do you know about the dear child?" "I can't tell you all I wish I could, but I can probably bring him to you. Will you meet me at London Bridge every Sunday night at eleven at night? I'll be there unless I'm dead."  
"Do you have the child held somewhere against his will?" Nancy shook her head.  
"But, I can tell by the look in your eyes, you know who does. Tell me, who has him? Tell me."  
"I can't." Nancy said flatly.  
"I won't tell a soul." Mr. Brownlow promised.  
"I CAN'T, DON'T YOU SEE? He'll kill me, he will. I can get him to you, that is all that concerns you. Everything else must be handled by me, and me only. Can you not see that I live in the shifty section of town? If I breathe so much as a word to you, you'll be dead sure as I sit here. Be glad you have a house, and a loving family. Be glad you weren't reared in Hell. Take advantage of it. Don't pity me, I can do no good to anyone." Nancy said stiffly. Mr. Brownlow put his hand on her shoulder.  
"You still have some compassion left in you. Thank God for that." He said. Nancy looked up through watery eyes.  
"Yes, and every spare ounce I have has been used on that boy. If I didn't care for him, he'd have been dead long before he ever met you. I'll see you on London Bridge." She said, standing.  
"Wait, Nancy!" Mr. Brownlow said.  
"Sorry about your couch." Nancy said flatly as she opened the door.  
"Forget the darn couch. If you ever need help, you can come here." He said. Nancy blinked.  
"Thank you. It would have done me good to have been raised by a person like you." She said as she ran home. Nancy wasn't sure why she said that. Fagin had been one to talk to. Of course, whenever she had a problem, his answer had always been the same: kill/wound/mortally harm them/it. This worked in some cases, but not all. And it wasn't that Fagin didn't have any compassion left, because he did have some, or he wouldn't have taken her in. It was just that some long time ago, Fagin was once probably a very brilliant man. No one really knew what had happened to him. But everyone knew, however, that Fagin was, nonetheless, a very compassionate man once you got to know him. He just showed his ways of caring in rather strange ways. Nancy felt, deep, deep inside her heart, a great deal of love for the wily old coot. But she didn't have time to think about that. She had to get home, or Bill.oh yes.he was gone with the boy. Oh, dear sweet little Oliver.he was as good as dead. But what could she do? Nancy had done her part; the rest was left to Fate.  
  
Part Twenty-eight In which we follow Bill and Oliver AT LAST. (Hallelujah.)  
Oliver had taken Nancy's advice to heart. He had said absolutely nothing for the past nine hours. Sure, his throat was sore due to the wind and rain and the relentless onslaught of pneumonia was enough to make his head spin, (which it did at times, but not literally as in 'the Exorcist' type deal. That's a good movie.watch it.anyway.) But he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. When they had been walking for about ten hours, they stopped in front of a house. Its outside was a light grey. The house, I mean, not Bill or Oliver. Oliver was now more of a pasty-chalk white, and Bill was his normal, rosy-cheeked self. (Who wouldn't be if they were him? The man gets an average of twenty-two hours of sleep a day!) Bill pointed at a building. "Do you see that building?" He asked Oliver. Oliver felt like saying 'duh', for the stupid house was at least six stories high and had a bellhop and a valet parking service. "Yes sir, but why are we robbing that hotel?" He asked. "Oh." Bill murmured, digging through his pocket for his directions. "I took a wrong turn." And off they were yet again. Oliver was quite tired, and you can only walk for so long before your legs begin to get rather tired or you feel sick or you faint or you fall down due to absolute exhaustion. Well, Oliver had been walking for thirteen hours straight now, and the pneumonia sure wasn't getting any better. The small boy began to think delirious thoughts, such as 'I wonder when my birthday is?' and 'What color are my hair and eyes?', but aloud he said none of it. He was simply waiting for Bill to stop, because at some point they'd have to stop, there were child labor laws against this, weren't there? And besides, at some time, somewhere in the vast region of space, everything will stop. My father will stop sleeping in about three minutes; this Pop Tart I am eating will stop due to the fact that it will be finished in about.now. And I will stop breathing in about seventy or eighty years or so. Yes, everything will soon stop, and this, we would think, would include Bill. Does it? I have no idea. I have been rambling about Pop Tarts and the exorcist for a page and a half now, and neither of those things have anything to do with Oliver Twist and his poor, sad, depressing childhood, now do they? So I shall shut up now. ANYWAY, Bill finally reached the destination he had in mind after they had been walking for about fifteen hours. By now Oliver was so close to fainting that if we had that yardstick, we could poke him with it and he'd faint. That'd be fun.where is that blasted yardstick? Bill pointed at the destination. "Do you see that destination?" He asked. "Yes sir." Oliver replied, for he saw the big tree in the road as plain as day. "Point at it." Sikes requested. Oliver made a lovely Vanna-White pointing gesture at the big oak tree. "NOT THAT, THAT!" Bill yelled in discreetly small voice as he turned Oliver to face a three-story house. "Yes, I see that too." Oliver said quietly. "That's where we're headed." Bill said as he dragged the boy to the side of the house. A little puppy came up to them and began to act cute and fluffy, rubbing the lot of its fluff up and down Sikes. Bill kicked the puppy aside, and opened a window, shoved Oliver into the window, and whispered for the boy to go unlock the front door. Oliver, albeit perfectly natural for him to be scared, was not. He was simply glad to get to a place where Bill was not. He tiptoed to the front door, and heard something behind him. Wheeling, Oliver saw the fluffy puppy. "Go home!" Oliver snapped. It turns out that the puppy was also as dumb as a rock. It followed Oliver all the way to the front door. Oliver pulled on the deadbolt, and just as the door opened and Bill made his way in, the giddy and fluffy puppy knocked over an enormous statuette of Sandra Bullock. It fell to the floor, shattering in large chunks all over the ground. "Bad dog!" Oliver hissed. The fluffy puppy pranced over to him and began to fastidiously lick his boots. "Awww." Oliver murmured. A light came on upstairs, and a man began to run down the stairs. Bill shoved Oliver out before him, and a gunshot rang out. Oliver was down cold. Hah.  
  
Part Twenty-nine In which we see what is taking place back home with Fagin, Nancy and the boys.  
It would be the understatement of the century to say that everyone back home had forgotten all about the scrawny boy and how he had come into their lives. As a matter of fact, not many people had moved very much around there.  
The Artful had been reduced to moping around; moodily throwing peanut shells at random people. Charly had locked himself in the bedroom, and had been lying in bed cackling hysterically and nonstop for the past three days. Fagin was standing by the stove, stabbing at sausages that didn't actually exist. But the one who was worst off by far was Nancy. After her visit to Mr. Brownlow's house, Nancy had walked through the streets, letting her dress drag through the mud and rainwater. By the time she got to Fagin's condo, her once red dress was now mostly brown and sooty. Angry at both the world and everyone in it, especially herself, Nancy opened the door to the condo. Every boy in the foyer looked up and a faint glimmer of hope flickered in their eyes before they realized that all hope was lost and turned back to the kerchiefs they were taking the initials out of. Nancy shook her head at the sorry sight. Charly, who had emerged from his room to help with the load, was laughing because some poor soul had been so lovingly blessed with the initials of 'ASS' (Amanda Samantha Stewart), and Charly made it a point to let everyone and their mother know. The boys, however, were in no mood to be toyed with. They remained silent as they kept right on prodding the linen with their needles, and the Dodger chucked a peanut at Charly, who, of course, found that extremely funny. Charly ran back to the bedroom to laugh some more. Nancy realized that she had to bring some life back into the place, even if she didn't feel like a daisy herself. "Hey Dodge!" She said sweetly, tickling Jack under the chin. The Artful looked up at her, blinked resolutely and then looked back down again. Dismayed, Nancy looked around. All the boys had their eyes glued on her, but surprisingly they weren't all over her like she was a jungle gym. That had to be a first. Determined to find out what was going on, Nancy entered the kitchen to see Fagin halfheartedly drawing sketches of nooses and gallows on a scrap of paper at the kitchen table. "What's going on?" She asked. The old man looked up and set his pencil aside. "The boys aren't stupid. They know just as well as I do that Oliver has, or will, blow our cover. He'll screw up, and we'll all die. That's what they're afraid of: death." Fagin explained. Nancy blinked. "Oh." She said in a small voice. Fagin looked back down at his drawing. "And I'm inclined to side with them. It's hard to get them to perk up if they know fully well that you don't believe what you're saying yourself. Feel free to try." Nancy turned to the dismayed children, and walked slowly to them. "Cheer up boys. We'll be fine, I promise." She said. This reduced the Dodger to tears, and the others all stood and rushed into the bedrooms to join Charly. "What is it with you?" Nancy asked as she knelt beside the Dodger. The boy looked up at her. "This is my only home. The only people that care about whether or not I live or die live here. And if that runt." Nancy cut him off. "Oliver is NOT a runt, Jack. He's actually a very sensible, sweet little boy. But by all means, continue." "Uhhh.if that 'adorable child' says something, we'll die. And I don't want to die." He said. 'Duh', Nancy thought. But she didn't say that. "He won't talk, I promise it. He won't talk, we'll get him back, shower him with love for actually making it back, and that'll be the end of that." She put in. The Dodger bit his lip and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Ick." Nancy muttered as she passed him her handkerchief. The boy wiped his streaming nose on it and laid it on the ground. Slowly, he got to his feet and let Nancy steer him into the bedroom. All the boys sat there, staring at her again. "Come on, I swear we'll be fine. I know that boy better than all of you combined, and I know he won't talk. Now why don't you get some sleep? It looks as if you haven't slept in days." "We haven't." Someone called. After making sure everyone had ample kleenex at their disposal and was in a bed, Nancy went back to Fagin. "They are all suffering from a serious depression. The sooner Bill gets back, the better." She said. Fagin rubbed at his eyes. "I'm going to bed. I need to get some sleep or else the boys'll kill me. If you don't want to go home, there's a spare bed in the back, Nance." He said, staring at her expectantly. Nancy had absolutely no desire to ever spend another night in that condo. "I'll manage, Fagin." She said as she stood up and left.  
  
Part Thirty In which we see what happens when Bill comes back.  
Once Nancy got home, she crawled into Bill's bed and fell asleep. Never mind that it was Bill's bed, Bill wasn't there, and neither was Oliver. When the two males had left, they had also left a void in her heart. Nancy slept until she heard the floorboards creak, about a day or so later. Thinking that someone, for some strange reason, was robbing a robber, Nancy got a gun and leapt to her feet. "I'M LOADED!" She screamed. "I know you are." Came a cool and collected male voice. "BILL!" She screamed, overjoyed as she ran to her significant other, shoving herself into his arms. Bill un-shoved her. "Eh.I'm glad I'm home to." He said. Nancy wiped the tears of joy from her eyes. "Aren't you glad to see me?" She asked. Bill blinked. "Uhhh.sure." He said as he took a step in the direction of the bed. "Wait.where's the boy?" She asked, looking around. "Not here." Bill muttered. "WHAT? YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU LEFT HIM SOMEWHERE? WHAT HAPPENED?" She roared. Bill went on to explain that Oliver was in a gutter somewhere, a bullet stuck in his leg. Nancy collapsed onto the floor in a faint, utterly shocked. That worked for Bill, who fell asleep. When Nancy woke up again, she left the apartments, looking for where Bill had said Oliver was. She found his little battered body in a gutter; the kind that has 'no dumping' stenciled in blue on it with a picture of an abstracted fish as well. "Oliver! Oh, Oliver!" She screeched. Oliver opened his eyes and saw double. This meant two of Nancy, which may or may not be a good thing, depending on whether or not you like Nancy. "Nancy!" He said, obviously happy. He aimed his body at one of the Nancys. Unfortunately, it was the Nancy that didn't actually exist. His forehead met Mr. Cement, and let out a small moan. "What happened to you?" Nancy asked as she helped him to sit up again. Oliver rolled up his pant leg and showed her his lovely gunshot wound. You could see the butt of the bullet, but to take it out would be unbelievably painful. She'd have to get him home and put him to sleep first. "I'm so glad to see you!" The boy gushed. Nancy grabbed him instinctively, holding him tightly to her chest. They sat there in the gutter, actually, outside the gutter except for Nancy's foot, which was in the little hole, for a few minutes. Then Nancy pulled the boy away. "I'll help you home to Fagin's, and then I can get that bullet out of your leg." She suggested. (Grand High Author's Note: I do not feel like including the Maylie family. I hate the Maylie family. May a cute, adorable, fluffy puppy viciously attack them. I'll just get Nancy to remove the bullet). Oliver nodded vigorously, and Nancy carried him, slowly, of course, the five or six miles back to Fagin's condo.  
  
Part Thirty-one In which we see Fagin's reaction to seeing Oliver again.  
By the time Nancy had the boy back at Fagin's condo, it was well past midnight. She carried him up the stairs and set him down gingerly on an area rug in the foyer. Nancy tiptoed to Fagin's bedroom, and gently woke her adoptive father.  
"I've got the boy!" She hissed. Fagin was awake in six seconds, and in the foyer, bent over Oliver.  
"You have no idea how glad I am to see you!" He gushed. Oliver blinked several times. He wasn't sure if the thing bent over him was Fagin or a very old and bedraggled Irish Setter. After all, both had shaggy red hair.  
"Fagin?" He said in a puzzled voice. The old man nodded vigorously.  
"Yes! Yes, it's me! BOYS!" He roared. A moment later all the boys were in the room, looking at Oliver.  
"Oliver!" The Dodger screamed, hopping on top of Oliver, sending the boy's leg crashing against the floor on the side.  
"Hello Dodger.MY LEG!" Oliver screamed. Nancy pried Jack off of his friend with some difficulty.  
"Oliver's back! WE AREN'T GOING TO DIE!" Charly screamed as he went into yet another hysterical laughing spasm. Oliver blinked as all the boys hugged him so tightly until it was to the point where he could barely breathe; his ribs hurt so much.  
"My leg hurts." He said to Nancy. The girl nodded.  
"If you all could please stay out of the bedrooms for a moment." She began. Fagin jerked his head to the kitchens.  
"Use the spare room." He hissed. Nancy understood.slowly.  
"Never mind." She said to the boys as she grabbed Oliver under the arms and dragged Oliver to the 'spare room'.  
Sure, now the room was spare. But it had once been her room, since Fagin didn't want Nancy alone in the same room as thirty-odd boys during puberty, for rather obvious reasons. Nancy placed the boy in the bed and rolled up his pant leg.  
"CHAR!" She screamed. Charly entered the room, breathless from laughing.  
"Yes?" He wheezed.  
"Could you please get me a rag and some form of toxic chemical?" Nancy asked. Charly ran off.  
"WHAT? TOXIC CHEMICALS? IS THERE SOMETHING I DON'T KNOW GOING ON HERE IN SOME SHADY AND/OR UNDERHANDED WAY?" Oliver screamed.  
"I just need to knock you out so you won't feel the pain." She explained as Charly came back with a towel, a permanent marker and a pair of tweezers, scissors and rubbing alcohol.  
"You expect me to get him high?" She asked incredulously.  
"Then use the alcohol." Charly said as he left, evidently highly offended. Nancy stared at Oliver, who was currently sweating bullets and praying to every god he had ever known existed.  
"Relax." Nancy advised as she poured the alcohol onto the towel and shoved it under his nose. "Relax and go to sleep." Oliver attempted to stay awake, he really did. But the soothing words from Nancy and the fact that he trusted her with his life put him to sleep. With a rather large deal of difficulty, Nancy managed to get the bullet out of Oliver's leg. She cleared away the stuff, tossed the bloodstained towel out the window and tucked Oliver in, feeling genuinely sorry for the poor boy. So sorry, that she went and took one of Fagin's precious shot glasses and put the bullet in it so that Oliver could keep it, just like the doctors in the hospitals give you your tonsils in a jar of fluid as a souvenir if you get them out. Setting the glass on the bedside table, Nancy made sure that Oliver was breathing (she was scared the alcohol fumes could've killed him) and ran her hand slowly over Oliver's exposed cheek. In a way, Nancy was sorry that the boy hadn't died when he had the chance to. That was he'd have been out of harm's way. But instead he'd pulled through, which was a blessing in itself. "He's not dead yet.he must be worth something." Nancy marveled aloud as she blew out the candle and left. "The job's done, Fagin." She called to the old man. Now the condo was back to it's old self. Boys were all over her, hugging her, pecking her on the cheek, cheering her on, flirting with her and altogether praising her existence. When Nancy once again gently said 'hello' to the Dodger, the boy grinned and hugged her around the shoulders. Nancy gently cuffed him on the shoulder and walked home, clicking her heels at appropriate intervals. "Excuse me? Where's the nearest restroom.jolly old chap.er.bloke.er.whatever a female is called 'round here?" "Who're you? Why're you here? I'm trying to draw part thirty-one to a close and there's some bedraggled guy with a map here.what'd you say you wanted?" Nancy snapped. "The restrooms? So I can have a.gay old time in the loo.pip-pip, cheerio?" "You wouldn't happen to be an American tourist, would you?" Nancy guessed. "Yes, I am!" "Well then shut up. Please, go back to America and inform everyone that no, the British do NOT use the words 'bloke' and 'pip-pip' anymore. Is that clear?" The tourist, by now sweating bullets, nodded. "Good. Go two blocks west and a street north and you'll be at a porter potty." Nancy mumbled, pointing the disgruntled American in the right direction. Once she was sure the American was down the lane a good way, Nancy turned. "Can we go on?" She asked. No one responded except for the wind hissing through the treetops.  
  
Part Thirty-two In which we see what happens when Oliver comes to.  
Rubbing alcohol can knock you out for several days at a time. This is probably why Oliver slept for two days straight in Nancy's old bedroom. Nancy, Fagin and even Bet stopped by every few hours to whisper encouraging words that they knew he couldn't hear or to give him a hug or a kiss they knew he couldn't feel. "Are we having a party?" Charly asked one day. In response, Bet knocked him over the head with her handbag. When Oliver awoke about two days later, the first thing he saw was.something fluffy. "HELP!" He screamed. Nancy and Fagin came running into the room. "What?" They asked. Oliver pointed a shaking finger at the offending specimen: the fluffy puppy. "Evil fluffy puppy!" He yelped. Nancy looked at the cute little adorable puppy. "This puppy is extraordinarily cute and adorable! How could it possibly do anything evil?" She asked as she patted the cute little fluffy puppy. Despite Oliver's protests, Fagin adopted the cute little fluffy puppy, and Nancy named him Mr. Fluffles. "Mr. Fluffles? What kind of a name is Mr. FLUFFLES?" Oliver objected. But he was paid no heed. The cute little fluffy puppy was named Mr. Fluffles, and the cute little fluffy puppy lived at Fagin's condo, and there was nothing Oliver's sick, pneumonic self could do about it. "Curse the cute little fluffy puppy." Oliver muttered as the cute little fluffy puppy licked his wound. "Awww." He countered himself. Oliver couldn't help it, that puppy was so gosh darned adorable.right up to the point where he bit Oliver's bullet hole wound. "NANCY!" He screamed in agony. The girl came running in. "What?" She asked. "That stupid dog of yours keeps biting this wound! And what's more, it HURTS!" He complained. Nancy scooped up the cute little fluffy puppy. "Mr. Fluffles wouldn't do a thing like that, now would you, Mr. Fluffles?" She cooed as she carried the puppy out of the room. And if you thought Oliver had it hard, you should see what Bill did when he found out about what had become of the puppy that had caused him to loose his job. Let me just say that there is a considerable shortage of baby birds in London.  
  
Part Thirty-three In which something awful occurs, or so I've told you but hey, I could be lying, I could do that, I'm the author! Hahahahaha!  
It was Sunday. It was 10:55 p.m. on a Sunday. Nancy had to get Oliver out to London Bridge.  
"I'm going for a walk Bill!" Nancy called. Bill shook his head.  
"No you're not. You're going to stay here and cook my dinner."  
"I already cooked your dinner." Nancy pointed out.  
"Cook it again." Bill commanded. Nancy didn't listen. She took another step toward the door.  
"I'll only be a minute." She called.  
"Oh look, a minute has passed. STAY HERE." Bill barked. Nancy sullenly sat down on the wooden floor and crossed her arms.  
"This isn't fair. I have constitutional rights."  
"No, you don't. AMERICANS have constitutional rights." Bill called from the microwave in which he was re-heating his dinner.  
"Stupid America." Nancy mumbled as she paced the floor. A thought occurred to her.  
"I'm going by Fagin's!" She called. Nancy got halfway out the front door before being confronted by Bill.  
"Why?" He asked. That was an easy enough question to answer. Many a person answers it on a daily basis. Some responses to this question include: 'My dog ate it', 'Because I want to get a quart of milk from there' and, of course, 'Because I said so.' Nancy gulped. Mr. Fluffles was at Fagin's, she didn't want a quart of milk, she was lactose intolerant, and 'because I said so' was calling for abuse.  
"Uhhh.I think I may be able to ferret some money out of Fagin for you." She said, knowing that she was now speaking Bill's language.  
"Whatever." Bill said as he ground his face into his plate of spaghetti. That was a dismissal, an excuse for Nancy to leave! And she took it, sprinting for dear, sweet life down the street to the condo.  
  
Part Thirty-four  
In which you discover that I lied in the introduction to the last part but hey, it's nice to be lied too once in a while. Did you know that your fly's open? Well, it is! Har-de-har-har!  
As Nancy approached Fagin's condo, relief swept over her. Now she could get Oliver, take him to the bridge.it was almost too good to be true.  
  
Looking up into the pitch black night sky, which was pierced only by the occasional pinprick of a star, Nancy could've sworn she saw a pig fly across the sky, making lazy circles. "WHAT?" Nancy yelped. "Oink." Responded the pig. Shaking her head, Nancy opened the door to Fagin's condo. "Nancy!" Called Charly. "What?" She asked. Charly ran up to her, breathless. "Fagin was just telling us about how you are a prosthesis!" "He told you that I was a replacement body part?" Nancy asked, confused. The Dodger appeared beside Charly. "No, you fool. He told us she was a." This part was whispered into Charly's ear. "OH YEAH! Nancy, what's a prostitute?" "OH MY GAWD! FAGIN!" Nancy roared, storming back into the kitchen. Fagin sat at the table, drinking from a tankard. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep little boys entertained these days?" He asked as his eyes crossed. "Evidently not.what've you been drinking?" She demanded as she snatched away the tankard, stuck her finger in it and licked it. "Yck! Old Tom? Do you know where they get Old Tom? We suspect it's from an infinite supply of dead old men named Tom.WHY'VE YOU BEEN TALKING TO THE BOYS ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK?" She asked. Fagin gave no response. Nancy turned to the boys, her arms crossed on her chest. "What's a prostitute?" Charly repeated. "A prostitute.well, first things first: I am not a prostitute. I think Fagin was telling you about his old friend-girl, Clancy. And a prostitute is someone who.doesn't bathe. And Clancy didn't bathe, and so she died. The end." The boys made a mad rush at the wash bucket. "Never say ANYTHING to them about my teenage years." Nancy yelped. "Or I swear, you'll not live to see your seventieth birthday!" Nancy swore. Fagin snickered. "One, you're only eighteen. So your teenage years implies anything that happened from April 22nd back, and then some, even now. Secondly, I taught you everything you know, Nancy. I'd beat you in a fist fight any day." He snapped. Nancy rolled her eyes. "Where's Oliver?" She asked. Fagin jerked his head toward Nancy's old room. "Asleep with Mr. Fluffles at his side. It's quite funny, he hates that dog, but that dog won't go anywhere without Oliver. I find it extraordinarily funny. Please, don't disturb him, he needs his sleep." Fagin said. Nancy walked carefully back to the spare room. Fagin was right, Oliver was knocked out. She had to wake him up. If she didn't, Oliver would be stuck there for another week. "Oliver!" She hissed urgently. The boy's eyes fluttered open. "Hunh?" He muttered, obviously still incredibly drowsy. Nancy picked up Mr. Fluffles and tossed the puppy, which was still asleep, onto Oliver's face. The puppy, as is a puppy's natural instinct, put out its claws. Unfortunately for Oliver, his face was just under Mr. Fluffles' claws. "YOW!" He screamed. Nancy clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shut up! I'm not supposed to be here!" She scolded as she picked up the provoked and wrathful puppy and dumped him onto the floor. Mr. Fluffles released a piteous yelp and limped into the foyer, attempting to look incredibly needy in the hopes of getting some food and/or kisses. Nancy took in the appearance of the boy. As if the fact that he was suffering from an incredibly critical and severe case of pneumonia wasn't enough, Oliver now had four deep scars on his face from Mr. Fluffles. One look into his sad blue eyes and you were hooked: you had to help the poor boy. Nancy reached into the bedside table drawer and pulled out the bottle of rubbing alcohol. "N,,,no." Oliver managed to plead. Nancy shook her head. "I'm not putting you to sleep. I'm just making sure that you aren't going to get infected by those gashes. Sorry about that, but I had to get your attention." She explained as she poured the stinging liquid on the gashes. "Ow." Oliver mumbled as he trembled violently. The pneumonia was setting in even worse. If he couldn't recuperate without disruption for a few days straight, he'd surely die. Nancy put the bottle of alcohol back into the drawer and looked at Oliver again. His gouges were now a lovely cherry red, and rather puffy. Nancy wasn't sure if that was good or not, but she knew no one she could ask that wouldn't question her. She hoped he didn't die because of the alcohol.oh well. "I can take you to Mr. Brownlow." Nancy said once she knew fully well that Oliver was listening. The boy's eyes lit up just as if it were Christmas and he was let into Toys 'R' Us and told he could have anything he wanted. "Really?" He asked. God, his voice is hoarse. Nancy thought as she nodded. "Yes. But you're in no condition to go anywhere. Fall behind once, just once, and it could mean your life. So what I'm going to do is come back next Sunday and see if you're any better then. If you are, then I'll take you to Mr, Brownlow. Okay?" A wave of sorrow crept over Oliver's face. "But, I want to see him now!" He moaned. Nancy shook her head. "You can't, you're too sick. You've caught pneumonia. Once you get better, I promise you that I'll get you to Mr. Brownlow, alright?" Oliver shuddered. "No, its really not." He griped, clearly upset. Nancy remembered something just then. "Don't say anything about this to anyone else, Fagin included. No one else, including Fagin, wants you to get to Mr. Brownlow's. Got it?" Oliver got it all right, but there was one thing he didn't get. "If no one else wants me to get to Mr. Brownlow's, then why do you want me to?" Oliver asked. Nancy took a deep breath. "Because I don't want you to have a childhood like mine. Let's just leave it at that, all right? And if Charly says anything to you about me being a prostitute, tell him that he's one too." At that last remark, Oliver snickered. He knew what a prostitute was; he'd read a book on it at Mr. Brownlow's house. Charly the prostitute.that was hilarious. Oliver began to laugh. "What?" Nancy demanded. "I know what a prostitute is." Oliver explained, too naïve to understand that Nancy really WAS a prostitute. He put her on too high a pedestal to think like that. Nancy provided Oliver with a bottle of Thera-Flu and instructions for him to take 2 teaspoons of it every six hours. She also left him a clock; a couple of books she'd nonchalantly lifted from a bookseller at the corner and a flashlight, as well as some cat's cradle string. Before leaving, Nancy showed Oliver how to make Jacob's ladder and a teacup, which could turn into the Eiffel Tower when you bit down on the top string and pulled upwards after letting go. Once making sure that Oliver was contented (Nancy's definition of contented: Knocked unconscious by Thera-Flu and blissfully unaware of the cute little fluffy puppy happily digesting your one and only copy of Edgar Allan Poe's collective works), Nancy tucked him in and left to go home, glad that maybe now Oliver could get well.  
  
Part Thirty-five In which Nancy goes home and then comes back and we meet a person that does not exist at all in any other form of 'Oliver Twist' except for this one, and we learn a bit more about Nancy's childhood.  
It was too good to be true. Oliver looked to be recuperating at a remarkable pace. It was looking as if a miracle may just have decided to appear. Then disaster reared its ugly head.  
On Saturday night, Nancy came by with Bill and Bet to see how Oliver was doing. Nancy and Bet wanted to see how Oliver was doing, that is. Bill had come simply because he was bored and felt like harassing Fagin.  
"How're you feeling?" Bet asked Oliver. The boy immediately made 'cat's whiskers' with his string.  
"SEE!" He yipped, overly excited. Bet blinked.  
"Er.that's nice." She remarked.  
"I can make 'Jacob's Ladder' too, but that one is really complicated. I'd need a stick. Want to play 'cat's cradle'? It's a two-person game! Do you know how to play? I can teach you! Did you know that I haven't moved in six days? Well, I haven't, and I really need to use the restroom!"  
"Uhhh.okay then." Bet mumbled as she stumbled out of the room.  
"NANCY! He's YOURS! He scares me too much to be able to keep him in my sight for more than five." Bet tripped over Mr. Fluffles who had just so happened to be right at her feet grooming as she took a step.  
"Minutes." She finished. Nancy laughed.  
"C'mere Mr. Fluffles!" She cooed as she picked up the cute, adorable little puppy and fed it a sausage snap.  
Curse that cute little puppy. Bet thought bitterly. Curse the cute little fluffy puppy and all it's related to. Nancy, however, was unfazed. Once Mr. Fluffles was safely playing with the boys again, she strode back into the bedroom. "Getting any better?" She asked Oliver. Oliver had certainly seen better days, but he wasn't going to say that. "I've never felt more alive!" He said brightly. Nancy raised an eyebrow. "Sure.do me a favor and stand up." She said. Crud. Oliver thought. He had dug himself into an incredibly deep hole, and there was no way to get out of it. He swung one leg out of the bed, and became incredibly winded. Red faced and panting, he got the other leg onto the ground and attempted to stand up. He managed to stay on his feet for a surprising fifteen and a half seconds before he collapsed. "Just as I suspected." Nancy breathed as she helped Oliver back into bed. "Elementary my dear Watson." Came a voice from the doorway. Nancy wheeled. Silhouetted in the doorframe was a man and a wallet. It was blue. The wallet, I mean, not the man. "Who the heck." Nancy muttered. "Don't you know who I am?" The man asked. "No." Nancy said frankly. She probably didn't recognize him due to the fact that he was enveloped in shadow. But.he was tall. "It's me!" The man said earnestly. "Nope, I still don't know who you are." Nancy mumbled as she crossed and then in turn uncrossed her arms. Out of habit, instinct and curiosity, she took a step closer to the man. And then another.and another.finally she was just two or so feet away from the man. Reaching out with a trembling hand, Nancy touched the man's unshaven cheek. "Is it." She began. The man started. "Yes." He urged her to continue. "Is it that bookseller from down the lane?" She asked. The man harrumphed. "No." He said flatly. Nancy blinked, curious. Oliver sat up and propped himself up with a pillow. He was just as intrigued as Nancy. "It's me! Saul!" The man said happily. "Saul?" Nancy repeated. "Your best friend from your age five up until your twelve?" The man whom we have now discerned as Saul added. Nancy's face brightened. "SAUL!" She shrieked, hopping into the man's arms. Saul let her stand there, enveloped in his rather muscular arms. Oliver was horribly confused. "Erm.who's Saul?" He asked. Nancy laughed giddily. "When I was growing up with Fagin and junk.he was the only one that actually cared about me and was my friend.what happened to you?" She asked. Saul let go of Nancy's shoulders and grasped Nancy's chin. "The question is, what happened to YOU?" He asked, a tinge of worry wavering in his voice as he looked her over. "You look so.mature and.old. How old are you now?" "Eighteen," Nancy responded, looking down at the ground. "EIGHTEEN? Jesus Nance, you look to be at least twenty-five." His voice trailed off as he realized that he'd greatly offended the girl. "How old are YOU?" Nancy mumbled. "Twenty-two." Saul answered. "And I look it. Oh Nance, why didn't you get out of here when I offered it to you? You could be in school, getting a diploma.why didn't you come?" Nancy met Saul's eyes squarely. "Because I knew that I belonged here. I knew that when I grew out of Fagin's gang when I hit the age of sixteen that I'd still have a place here with him, and Bet and Bill. Plus the fact that I don't at all belong in the real world. "It's great that you found someone in the real world that would adopt you and care for you when you turned sixteen, but I was only twelve then. And I knew that the world out there was too big and confusing.I had family and people that loved me here. I didn't know about the real world. "I knew that Fagin loved children with everything he had.and that I'd always be like a daughter to him. But you weren't as close to him as I was.I was his little girl. He used to call me his 'little lamb'. You were just that guy that was especially gifted at hemming noserags. And I just couldn't leave him like that." Her voice trailed off, and Nancy swaggered ditsily to the bed and perched on the side next to Oliver. Saul didn't say anything, but he looked incredibly guilty. "I'm sorry." He mumbled. "Hmn." Nancy grunted. Oliver reached over and took her hand, patting it comfortingly. Saul looked curiously at the boy. "Who's this young one?" He asked. Nancy didn't bother to look up; she kept her eyes locked on her lap. "Oliver. I'm saving him from the fate I had.and you WOULD'VE had." Nancy explained. Saul's eyes lit up. "You're JEALOUS, aren't you Nance?" Nancy looked at Saul through tear stained eyes, black eyeliner and blue mascara running in a small stream down her cheeks. "What makes you say that?" She asked. The amazing thing about Nancy was that, no matter how she felt, her voice would always sound the same: level, tolerant, calm, superior and adamant. That would never change. It never had, and it never will. Saul got in her face, and Nancy quickly turned the other cheek. "Because I got out so easily to someone who loved me.and so did a lot of the other boys of our generation.except for you." Nancy wiped a red-sleeved hand across her face, sending the blackish-blue mess smearing across her cheeks. "I HAVE someone who loves me.Fagin does. I just know it.don't I?" The last part was said somewhat doubtfully. Oliver suddenly was overcome with a wave of dizziness and he leaned over and put his head on Nancy's chest in order to steady it. The girl didn't try to move it; she was too overwhelmed with chagrin to say anything. Saul sighed. "I should think he does, Nance." He tried to reassure. But as Nancy flicked her eyes up and looked through the open door at the foyer, she saw Fagin and the boys laughing and eating and drinking and dancing.and she saw the truth as plain as day. Fagin had never loved her.he had just felt sorry for her because she was a girl. "Sexist." Was all she could get out. Oliver sat up and then put his head back and his arms around Nancy's shoulders. Saul sighed, "You're very special to him, Nance. He saw what you had to offer.you're a very special girl. If you weren't he'd have left you to die in that ally by that pub." At that comment Oliver felt Nancy stiffen. "I was doing fine on my own. Patrons were giving my their leftover soup and bread from their meals, and I had a blanket. I was four years old, and I would've survived without his help." She snapped. Oliver applied a bit of gentle pressure with his arms until he felt her relax and grip his arm gently, assuringly. Nancy didn't notice Saul as he murmured 'I'm sorry.' Before he left. She didn't notice Fagin leave the foyer as Saul exited and come into the bedroom with a wet cloth. "What's going on?" He asked as he passed the cloth to Nancy. The girl put on a proud face and wiped away the makeup and tears. "Nothing." She snapped. Oliver let go and slid back to the girl's side again. SNAP, Nancy was now a closed book. Fagin searched Oliver's eyes. They were hinting of pain and love. "It was something Saul said, wasn't it?" He asked. Nancy made not a move, but Oliver nodded just slightly enough for Fagin to see it. "He came by, explained himself and requested that he see 'his dear Nance'. So I let him in.did he hurt you?" Nancy said nothing. Oliver, on the other hand, nodded vigorously. Fagin watched Nancy wring the cloth and get dirty water into her lap. She obviously didn't care, and she never really had. Fagin left the room, shutting the door behind him. "That Saul's a jerk." Oliver said softly. Nancy let out a strangled cry, she'd forgotten he was still there. "Oh.it's you." She mumbled. "He's not a jerk.he's just incredibly frank.he's still one of my good friends, and always will be, but no one can replace people like Bet and.heck.even you. People that sometimes don't tell you the truth when they know that the last thing you need is veracity. It's just sometimes hard to face the past." Nancy finished. Oliver climbed out of the bed and managed to stiffly walk to the door. He clung to the knob, breathing heavily. "Where're you goin'?" Nancy asked. "To sleep with the others. Take this room.you need to get away from it all for a while." Oliver said as he fumbled with the knob. Nancy sighed. "Thank you, lamb." She said in a subdued tone. Oliver's throat suddenly got large due to his stomach's hopping into it. Nancy had said that was what Fagin had called her when she was younger. With that out of the way, the boy turned again, but Nancy was already asleep, her stringy red hair spilling over the side of the bed. With some difficulty, Oliver managed to get a blanket over her and tuck her in before he stumbled out and shut the door. "What's going on?" Barked Bill from the foyer. Oliver was about to say something, but Bet took his by the shoulders and steered him to the boy's bedroom. Fagin took up for Nancy. "Nance'll spend a couple of nights here, Bill. She needs to relax. The girl's been under a lot of stress lately, and the last thing she needs is.some people applying constant pressure to her." Fagin murmured as he took Bill by the arm and basically kicked him out of the condo before he had a chance to put up an argument. There was no time for arguing.much less anything else. "Get some sleep, Oliver." Bet pleaded. Oliver shook his head, but his eyelids lowered somewhat. "I want to stay awake.for Nancy." He mumbled, his speech slurring. "I'll stay up for her, don't worry. She'll be fine.all she needs is sleep." Bet assured the boy. Oliver, unwillingly, fell asleep. Bet stood and went back to Nancy's room to check up on her. When she opened the door, Mr. Fluffles squeezed past her and trotted to the bed, flopping down to go to sleep in the crook of Nancy's arm. Nancy stirred, but then went back to sleep. Satisfied that everything was going well, Bet shut the door and went back to they foyer. "Well?" Asked Fagin. Bet made her way to the front door. "Keep an eye on them.if they can just sleep for a couple of days they'll be fine. Just please, keep the others away from Oliver. It's apparent he's still got pneumonia, and if Dodger or Charly gets him sicker.I'll have to kill them." She mumbled before leaving the condo for the night. Fagin looked at his hands, "What've I done? Did I create this.this monster?" That question remains unanswered.  
  
Part Thirty-six In which we see if Nancy and Oliver get any better.  
Mentally, no. Physically, somewhat.  
  
Part Thirty-seven In which we see some nouns perform some adjective verbs.  
Nancy awoke the next day to see Mr. Fluffles still attached to her armpit. The dog looked as if it had just grown about two inches of fluff.  
  
It had looked, before, like a wet cotton ball. It had had fluff, but the fluff was squished down and flat. Now Mr. Fluffles looked like a dry cotton ball, and was incredibly fluffy. Nancy suspected that if she tossed him into an ocean, Mr. Fluffles would bob to the surface and float due to the fact that his fluff would be less dense than anything else would. Upon closer inspection of the puppy, Nancy got the shock of her life. "FAGIN!" She screamed. "What?" The man demanded. Nancy pointed a shaking finger at Mr. Fluffles. "It appears that Mr. Fluffles is a Mrs." She yelped. Upon an even closer inspection, Nancy proved to be correct. "So." He asked. "So I've been right. Everything I said to Saul is true. You ARE sexist." Fagin was highly offended by this comment. "YOU'RE the one who named him!" He pointed out. "Well, YOU suggested it!" Nancy roared. Fagin blinked. "So?" He countered. "So.are we changing it to Mrs. Fluffles.or do we re-name her altogether?" She asked. "How about Tinkly?" "TINKLY?" Nancy yelped, incredulous. Fagin patted the puppy slowly. "Well, she certainly doesn't look like a Killer, Mauler or Bloodthirst, does she?" Nancy shook her head. "While that may be true.Tinkly?" Fagin nodded adamantly. Nancy, who was still in bed and incredibly weak, didn't have the energy to fight it. "Whatever." She murmured. "She's not my dog." Fagin patted Tinkly on the head and left the room. Tinkly yipped happily at Nancy. "Shut up." The girl said forlornly to the puppy. Tinkly couldn't understand it, people always loved her. She was so cute and fluffy and adorable.what could be wrong with her? "Yip!" Tinkly said in a cute yap. Nancy shoved the puppy off the bed. Whatever could be wrong? Had Tinkly's cuteness factor disappeared? Tinkly hopped into the foyer, and was engulfed in a wave of boys willing to brush her. No, she hadn't lost her cuteness. What a relief. 


End file.
